Black Bond II
by Rajatarangini
Summary: As Harry Potter and Acquila Black struggle with the mystifying Soul Bond, they find themselves at the forefront of the war against Voldemort, who battles with Sirius Black to regain his hold over the magical world. Part II of Black Bond (Thanks to Nerdman3000 for the cover image)
1. Chapter 1 - The Skull in the Sky

**Author's Note:** To those of you who've been patient enough for the past eleven months, sorry we took so long to come up with this. For new readers, you'll have to read the mammoth Black Bond to make any sense of this.

Hope you all enjoy the part II of Black Bond as much as you did part I.

Happy reading :-)

 **oOo**

(A short recap. Since we write such huge chapters, it's tough to cover everything that's happened in the last two chapters. But we've just given a very brief overview of the main events towards the end of Black Bond)

 _After escaping death at Greyback's hands in the Forbidden Forest, where Acquila possessed Harry and transformed his body into his lion Animagus form, things are not quite the same between them with her struggling with Greyback's traumatizing attempt at assaulting her. Sirius, meanwhile, investigate's Barty Crouch Senior's death and realizes that Barty Crouch Junior is still alive and aiding Lord Voldemort in his quest to regain a new body. With Trelawney's Prophecy about Voldemort's return and the fruitless search for Horcruxes weighing on his mind, Sirius decides that he needs to maintain his hold in the Ministry. Showing Cornelius Fudge memories of Harry fighting Quirrel and Kingsley Shacklebolt watching Voldemort's wraith fly away, Sirius convinces Minister Fudge about Voldemort's existence and the need to keep it silent even while building up a plan to contain his possible attempts at regaining power. The Werewolf Rights Bill finally gets passed, and Amos Diggory appoints Remus as Head of the Werewolf Liaison Office. After Dora accepts Remus' proposal of marriage, the two of them move out of Grimmauld Place into a flat of their own. Deciding that the kids need a change of place to cheer them up after the Greyback episode, Sirius takes them on a trip to France, where Harry and Acquila finally shed off the awkwardness and rekindle their friendship, and where they meet the Delacour family._

 **oOo**

 **Chapter One: The Skull in the Sky**

His hands felt awfully cold despite the relative heat of the summer. Yet, beads of sweat prickled at his brow as he read the words on the parchment. On slightly shaky feet, Lucius took long strides towards the fireplace, already casting spells to keep Cissa and Draco or the elves from entering the room. Another swish of his wand and the fireplace erupted into tall flames. With trembling fingers, he dropped the parchment into it, stoking the fire, his wand swishing and swishing until there was nothing left of the parchment but the ashes, which he vanished with another wave of his wand.

He stared at the empty hearth for a long moment, his forearm seeming to burn. Or perhaps it was only his fright at seeing Igor's letter that was making him doubly aware of the Dark Mark that lay branded on his skin – a testament to how he could never be free of his past or of the Dark Lord.

 _Igor_ , Lucius fumed. _Igor, the idiot._

Why did the fool have to write to him now? For all he knew, Black was having Malfoy Manor monitored! What if the letter had passed through the hands of the Ministry before it reached Lucius?

Or, more worryingly, what if it hadn't been written by Igor at all, but planted by Black to have Lucius thrown into Azkaban?

Lucius almost snorted at the thought. He had had a little too much to drink tonight, it seemed – like most other nights. Black wouldn't want to put Lucius in Azkaban any time soon when he had proved so valuable for him with manipulating his Death Eater pals.

And Black wouldn't monitor Lucius… why would he need to, when he had Lucius' own _wife_ sneaking his secrets to him?

Cissa, his dear Narcissa… She was all but lost to him now. Oh, they put on a good show for Draco, alright: the perfunctory kiss before breakfast, attending social gatherings together, spending their evenings with Draco like a proper family. But it was all an act, of course. The moment Draco was out of sight, she would push off Lucius' hand, behaving like even the littlest of contact with him was disgusting to her.

But why wouldn't she feel sick of him, Lucius mused, when even he felt disgusted with himself at times – every time he saw the scar on Draco's cheek, every time he saw his son turn pale and gaunt as the full moon approached, every time people stared and whispered about the _half-breed_ at pureblood parties.

The Werewolf Rights Act was all well and good legislatively, but social mind-sets about lycanthropes would take decades to change. What better an example of that than Lucius himself? He couldn't help but shudder every mealtime that Draco asked the elf to make his steaks a little raw, couldn't help but feel disgust at the scars that marred his son's pale skin, couldn't help feel sickened that his own seed and blood, the last of the Malfoy line was a filthy half-breed, a _werewolf._

And what was worse was _Lucius_ was to blame for that! For maiming his son for life! For hiding the Dark Lord's threatening note from Black, for leading to the descent of House Malfoy into depths they could never rise from, a taint that would never be wiped off the Malfoy bloodline.

He stood up, the sudden motion making his head spin a little.

Yet again he wished he had Narcissa by his side. She had always given him good counsel before things went south between them. She would have told him what to do, helped him make up his mind on which side to choose, told him what Black was up to. But now, she never would.

This was a dangerous conundrum he was stuck in, Lucius knew, with Black on one side and the Dark Lord on the other.

He sat back onto the chair, fidgeting with his wand, before he grabbed the empty glass from the table and refilled it, swallowing the cold liquid in a single gulp before he refilled the glass again.

Perhaps others like Nott and Yaxley were already on the way to seeking the Dark Lord and getting into his good graces again – because they, like Lucius himself, knew that the Dark Lord wasn't dead. Maybe Lucius should have looked for the Dark Lord, too… he still had time to do that.

He had already got a taste of how far-reaching the Dark Lord's powers were; Draco getting bitten had proved that. He couldn't risk inviting the further ire of the darkest wizard of all times. He had to protect Draco and Cissa.

He could still redeem things; he could still seek the Dark Lord, plead for his forgiveness, beg to be taken back into his fold, offer his wealth and connections and whatever power he had left for a chance to keep Draco and Cissa away from the Dark Lord's wrath.

He stood up again, pacing around, staring at the remnants of the liquor in his glass. The liquid sloshed – burgundy and brown, and then gleaming gold when he walked below the bright chandelier.

But as he walked to a darker corner of the room, he felt a chill down his spine as the liquor seemed to turn a deep crimson – a shade not unlike the blood that had bathed Draco when Greyback dug his jaws into him.

With a cry of fury and revulsion, he threw the glass away, hearing it shatter against the wall, the liquor painting the wall a dull red.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't seek the Dark Lord, not when Black had bound him with the Vow he had sworn. It had been more than a year since the day Black had come storming into Malfoy Manor, screaming at Lucius for having planted the Dark Lord's Diary into Hogwarts, for almost having gotten his pesky children killed. But Lucius remembered what Black had made him swear as well as if he'd sworn them just the previous day.

 _Swear on your magic, on the magic and the blood of your very House that you shall neither do nor even seek to do anything that shall put Harry Potter and Acquila Black's lives at harm,_ Black had made him vow. Even now as he remembered the words – even though they'd been unspoken, only a deep magical resounding in Lucius' mind… he could still feel the force of the oath thrumming in his very veins, though it had been so long since he had sworn it.

Not many people put stock in the tales of the powerful and ancient magic of pureblood Houses. But Lucius _knew_ all the tales were true. Black had had him swear a blood oath, an oath on the very magic that dwelled in Lucius and Draco's blood, the magic that they had inherited from innumerable Malfoy wizards and witches dating back to centuries.

He could not go back on his word to Black, not when he put the very existence of the House of Malfoy at risk. He could not do anything that could even remotely harm Harry Potter. Nothing at all.

Black had his hands well and truly tied, the Muggle-loving bastard.

But the Dark Lord _was_ rising again, Lucius knew, as he rubbed the brand on his forearm. Even Igor, who resided miles away in Durmstrang, had felt the Dark Lord's power, felt the Mark burning, the Dark Lord calling out to his faithful followers.

Not responding to the command would mean certain death when the Dark Lord rose again. And _responding_ would result in the complete decimation of whatever remained of the Malfoys.

He ceased pacing around now, his throat parched, his eyes glancing at the liquor cabinet again. It was the only thing that gave him blessed relief now – the alcohol. An escape from the sleepless nights, from his uncaring wife, from his lycanthropic son, from the fear of dying at Black's hands and of watching Cissa and Draco succumb at the Dark Lord's.

Lucius swore, summoning a new glass, reaching out blindly for the first bottle that he could find, when a sudden knock at the door startled him.

"Father! Why have you magicked the door shut?" It was Draco, of course.

Cursing under his breath, Lucius stumbled a little – a sign that he had already passed the threshold of soberness tonight. But despite his tipsiness, his spell worked decently as he unlocked the door with a wave of his wand.

"Father, I heard some noise— _oh,_ " said Draco, noticing the shattered glass and the splotches of liquor that marred the wall.

Damn. He should have cleared the mess before letting Draco in – yet another sign that he was more drunk than sober.

Draco stared at him, uneasy, uncertain.

He might not adore their son like Narcissa did, but Lucius knew his boy very well. He seemed to be struggling between requesting Lucius to curtail his drinking and avoiding rebuking his own father like any good Malfoy should.

Draco remained silent, though he seemed about to burst with his unspoken words. Finally, he spoke, not quite meeting Lucius' eyes. "Is there something wrong? Between Mother and you?"

"Of course not," Lucius lied smoothly.

It was, after all, the only thing that Cissa and he agreed on: that Draco should never know that his father was responsible for him getting bitten, that it was the reason why his parents were husband and wife only in name and nothing else, that Lucius had (with a lot of unintentional help from Sirius _bloody_ Black) destroyed everything that he had ever loved and cherished about his family.

"You—you—well, you drink a lot nowadays," stuttered Draco, silver eyes finally meeting Lucius'. He had grown a lot taller now, Lucius' boy. In another couple of years, he would tower over both his parents. Perhaps, he had his Black genes to thank for his (though some would surely say it was the _Rosier_ blood in him, given the rumours which once did the rounds about Narcissa's questionable parentage).

"You were never like this before," went on Draco. "Is it—is it because of what's happened to me? Are—are you ashamed of me? Because I'm a werewolf? Is this because of that?"

There was something in Draco's eyes that reminded Lucius of the little trusting child he had once been, always holding his arms out to his father, wanting to be carried around as they watched the albino peacocks frolic in the gardens, snuggling into his embrace when one of the curious peachicks came too close.

There was something so vulnerable and forlorn in his Draco's expression – so powerful a mixture of budding hope and devastating hurt – that Lucius' heart would have broken, if he even had one, that is.

"I'm not ashamed of you," whispered Lucius, knowing for once that this was the truth. He did despair about the taint that had irreversibly marred Draco, his newly-acquired wolfish habits did disgust him at times, but he could never be ashamed of his son. He _loved_ his son, werewolf or not.

Draco was the sole bright spot in his life with Cissa lost to him.

Begetting Draco was, perhaps, the only good thing he had ever done.

Lucius shook his head, certain now that he had drunk far, _far_ more than he should have to have allowed such sentimental thoughts to surface.

"I am not ashamed of you, son," he said, his voice sounding thick. "I can never be. You are a Malfoy, Draco. You shall be the Head of our House someday. You can never shame me."

Draco smiled – a smile so uncurbed and carefree, nothing like the polite, hollow smiles he had taken to grinning since he got bitten. Lucius found himself smiling too.

"Acquila _told_ me," Draco said, grinning wider now, "She told me you couldn't hate me. She—well, she doesn't like you much, but she told me that you still love me, despite what I am…"

"I do," said Lucius quietly, already bristling at the mention of the Black girl, at the dreamy smile that Draco flashed at the mere thought of her.

Before Black had broken out of Azkaban, Cissa and he had told Draco to befriend the girl, hoping to bind the two children into marriage when they grew up, ensuring that Draco and Acquila's child would hold the Black and Gamp wealth and lordships someday. But his greed for the Black fortune had only pushed his son into Black's arms… Black's _daughter_ 's arms, rather.

But for all that Draco fancied the girl, she would never deign to marry his son, Lucius knew.

Draco would have his heart broken, sooner or later.

But he was just a boy. He would get over it soon enough. Malfoys weren't meant to brood over foolish blood-traitor girls, anyway. Especially over the daughter of Sirius Black…

Draco's closeness to the Acquila, his respect for Remus Lupin, and the fact that Sirius Black was the father of the girl Draco fancied, meant that the boy would never consider the Blacks his enemy.  
That meant, Lucius mused for the umpteenth time in the past months, yearning for another drink, barely listening to what Draco was saying, that his half-breed son was already a _blood-traitor_ for the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord had already had Draco attacked once; he wouldn't think twice before harming him again, just to piss off Black and his daughter, who were both so dear to the Potter boy.

The Dark Mark on Lucius' forearm burned suddenly, _painfully_ , almost as if the Dark Lord was warning him on what was in store for the Malfoys.

He _had_ to do something, Lucius knew.

He nodded absently to what Draco was saying, and grabbed the glass from the table again, uncaring of his son's barely-contained disgruntlement as he emptied the contents of the bottle into it.

He would need to act. _Soon_.

 **oOo**

Sirius cast a glance around at the street that housed Grimmauld Place. There weren't any Muggles around at that late hour, but he preferred being cautious. He didn't want to add any more illegal Obliviation to the one he'd done during Caractacus Burke's interrogation.

He sighed tiredly as he entered the house, Mopsy hurrying to take his coat from him.

It had been a long day: the search for Crouch Junior was still fruitless; he'd had to chase a small-time Dark magic practitioner through a busy Muggle street (which resulted in having to drag a dozen Muggles to the Obliviaters by the time the crook was caught), and then he'd stopped by Irene's on the way home; though he decided he very well preferred being tired out by shagging Irene than chasing foolish wizards in the middle of a busy road.

"Should Mopsy set the table for Master?" asked Mopsy meekly.

"No, thank you," he replied, moving towards his room. He had been famished after the time he'd spent with Irene and grabbed a bite at her place.

He barely moved towards the staircase when he saw Acquila curled up in the armchair by the unlit fireplace, a book lying loosely in her hand as she slept.

"Acquila," he said, keeping his voice low, gently taking the book away from her. By now, he knew that he couldn't wake her up suddenly and give her a fright; it reminded her of that night with Greyback, making her withdraw into herself even as she tried to put on an unaffected air. He called out to her softly until her eyes blinked open, her gaze panicked at first until she realised it was him.

"Hey, Dad," she yawned sleepily.

"Why aren't you in bed yet? It's past midnight," he said.

She just shrugged, saying nothing until he raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"It was nice, spending time with you in France… I mean, you _do_ spend time with us when we're home for the holidays, but not as much as you did in France," she said quietly, seeming a little embarrassed. "Since we've been back, you've hardly been around much. So I thought I'd wait up for you."

He felt his heart clenching with a surge of affection infused with guilt. Acquila had stayed up for him to come home, while he'd been busy having a romp with Irene.

"Come here, love," he said quietly, gathering her into a hug and pressing a kiss to her brow.

"So, what do you want to do?" he asked her, wondering whether she'd like to see the dusty photographs of their Marauding days that he's stored in the attic. Harry could join them too… they could spend some time together before the kids left for Arthur Weasley's house prior to the Quidditch World Cup final. He had been a little reluctant to let them go, knowing it was a security concern. But Kingsley had assured him that the Burrowwould be made well-secured.

"Well, you could tell me more about Mum and you," Acquila said quietly, something wistful in her voice.

"I've already told you about us," he said, finding himself smiling. "About how we met at Hogwarts, and how I pursued her until she finally agreed to date me, and then asked her to marry me in the middle of a battle with Death Eaters—"

"But I want to know about both of you," she cut in, seeming pensive. "About how you were with each other—about how she was, and you were…" she trailed off vaguely, shrugging, making Sirius wonder what she was getting at.

Did this have something to do with her constant conflict about her relationship (or the lack of it) with Harry? After that episode at Black Manor when something had happened between them, making Acquila keep away from Harry, the two teenagers had finally reconciled with each other, the vacation in France bringing them back to their original, friendly selves. But it didn't seem like they had resumed being, well, _romantic_ with each other, he thought, grimacing a little.

He remembered asking her to make up her mind on Harry once and for all. Perhaps, her curiosity about his relationship with Athena had something to do with that.

"Alright." He grinned.

"But don't you want to eat something first?" she asked him suddenly. "I had Mopsy make your favourite pudding for dessert."

"I already ate at work," he lied, feeling absurdly guilty again. "We could—" A loud _crack_ made startled him, making his hand move swiftly to his wand.

But it was only Kreacher.

"What is it?" Sirius asked the aged elf.

"Master Phineas says that Headmaster Dumbledore is calling Kreacher's Master," Kreacher croaked, disappearing already, muttering unintelligible things under his breath.

Sirius sighed, the groan he was about to let out stifled by the realisation of why the old man could be asking for him at the late hour: Dumbledore had finally kept his word, it seemed.

"What does he want with you?" asked Acquila warily, before there was a sudden gleam in her eyes. "Is it about the Horcruxes, do you think? Can Harry and I come, too?"

"No, you can't," he replied swiftly, watching her scowl. "Putting Dumbledore and you in one room hasn't worked out well before, has it?" he quipped, remembering how her fury had sent Dumbledore's office shaking, his prized glass instruments shattering when Acquila had been just an eleven-year-old girl.

"I'll tell you what he says. Don't wait up for me," he added, knowing that was what she would want to do. "It could be nothing for all we know." He didn't want to get her hopes up; the children had spent quite some time fruitlessly poring over books and repeatedly watching Slughorn's memory in the search for Horcruxes. "Dumbledore might even have called me to say he found nothing on Hepzibah Smith. So don't get all excited. Go off to bed now. We'll talk in the morning. I'll take half the day off work, alright? We'll spend some time together… both of us."

"Okay," she gave in, looking a little grumpy. But she smiled when he kissed her brow again. "Bye, Dad."

He threw a pinch of floo-powder into the fireplace, hoping he wouldn't cross paths with Snape like he'd done on his last visit to the Castle of Hogwarts – a repeat of that was something he desperately wanted to avoid; their last argument had only left him feeling like a petulant loser.

"Ah, Sirius," said Dumbledore, when he finally made the journey up the spiral staircase and into the familiar office. Phineas watched on from the wall, his usual sneer overshadowed by the eagerness in his dark eyes.

"Have a seat, my boy," went on the Headmaster. "How have you been? Your attempt at rebuilding your alliances was a splendid success, I hear, as was the good your trip to France did to Harry, Acquila and you."

"I'm sure you didn't call me here to exchange pleasantries," muttered Sirius; hearing Harry's name from the older wizard made him bristle as he remembered what Dumbledore had done: ensured Voldemort regained his Yew and Phoenix feather wand.

The astute headmaster seemed to realise that mentioning Harry wasn't the wisest thing to do; so he only smiled, his good hand stroking his long beard while the cursed hand remained on the table, black and decayed, the harbinger of impending death.

"You got it, then? Information on Smith?" asked Sirius bluntly.

"More than I expected to gather," replied Dumbledore, the twinkle still present in those bright eyes that looked so wise and old, even older than the wrinkled features that were testament to his age.

With his steady good hand, Dumbledore retrieved his Pensieve with a swish of his wand, the ancient vessel landing neatly on the table before them.

"Here," said Dumbledore, handing him a vial that contained swirling wisps of memories.

Sirius felt his heart thumping madly as he emptied the contents of the vial into the Pensieve. This was the closest he had come to discovering a Horcrux in almost a year. After months and months of failure, this was the one ray of hope, failing which he had no more clues to fall back on, nothing that even remotely pointed to what Voldemort's Horcruxes could be.

 _There's still the one that dwells in Harry,_ a voice reminded him, sounding eerily like James; and he found that familiar fear of losing his child taking over the eagerness that had been there mere moments ago.

"Sirius," Dumbledore shook him out of his thoughts. "Shall we?"

Sirius nodded – and then he was plunging into a sitting room that was crammed with cabinets and little lacquered boxes and gold-embossed books, with the immensely fat lady, the squeaking house-elf, the handsome, charming young man whose eyes flashed scarlet, the Locket, and the _Cup! –_ the Cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, the Cup that Sirius wished he could prise right out of the memory and strike it with the Sword of Gryffindor, the Cup that gave him the hope he had been yearning for since months.

"What is it?" demanded Phineas, looking more animated than ever when they arose from the Pensieve, Sirius' heart soaring with relief and delight. "The old man wouldn't tell me! What is it, boy?"

"It's the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff!" Sirius exclaimed, his face breaking into a smile despite himself, watching Phineas' eyes widen. "I thought it was just a myth. Grandmother Melanie used to tell Reggie and me stories about it…"

"It exists, then?" said Phineas, a touch of incredulity to his voice. "There was always talk of it, but I thought it was long lost to time. Where is it, then? What did he do with it?"

"We don't know," said Sirius, a hint of defeat slipping in. "He stole it from Hepzibah Smith. We can find it, I'm sure – at least we knowwhat it is. A horcrux, _finally,"_ he whispered, more to himself.

"This is but a small step on the long path that lies before us, Sirius," put in Dumbledore. "But sometimes, it is the smallest of steps that mark the difference between defeat and victory."

Sirius nodded.

"Have you any thoughts on how we shall go about tracking down the Cup?" asked Dumbledore.

"Even if he did," cut in Phineas from his portrait, "he would be a fool to trust you with it."

The portraits of his fellow headmasters and headmistresses began tutting and shaking their heads at Phineas' lack of faith in Dumbledore. But Sirius knew his forefather was right. Dumbledore may have helped him get this memory, but he couldn't trust him, not after what he did, not when he would always put the good of the world before everything else including Harry's life.

"This isn't the time for squabbles, Phineas," said Armando Dippet from his portrait.

"Can you hazard a guess as to where the Cup could be hidden?" Dumbledore asked Sirius quietly, deaf to the portraits' loudening arguments, blue eyes bright, seeming to gaze into Sirius' very soul.

Sirius looked away, choosing to stare at a scowling Phineas instead, noting how Dumbledore's quiet voice had been enough to call an end to the warring headmasters and headmistresses. Despite them knowing what he had done with the Yew wand, Dumbledore's predecessors' faith in him was unshaken, it seemed.

"No," Sirius replied finally, "I don't know."

But the vivid mental picture that had haunted his thoughts over the past few days resurfaced in his mind's eye again, something he hadn't confided in anyone yet: of Riddle Manor burnt to the ground, the air devoid of any signs of magic, but something about the place making Sirius' skin prickle, making his hair stand on end, screaming out to him that something was amiss, something unseen and unknown, dark and sinister.

"I will believe you if you say so," said Dumbledore mildly, though Sirius could see mistrust in those wise eyes. "I shall look into the matter and see what I can find out about the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff. So shall you, I presume; and when either of us unearths something about it, I expect we shall confer upon it, Sirius."

Sirius said nothing, knowing he would think twice before choosing to trust Dumbledore with anything.

The Headmaster sighed again. "I know you think I have wronged you, my boy. But there is still a lot that you have to learn before you take my place as the leader of the Light. I hope you shall not let your dim view of my actions cease you from confiding in me, for Harry's sake, and for the wizarding world's sake at large."

Fighting a mad urge to roll his eyes, Sirius merely nodded brusquely, too excited about news of the Cup to even lock horns with the headmaster again. Taking leave of Dumbledore with a few polite words, he departed from the Castle, breathing in deeply as the breeze flew cold and fast across the lawns of the school. He had half a mind to take a run in the Forbidden Forest as Padfoot before he went home, just to gather his thoughts, to bask in the freedom that Padfoot gave him. But one glance at the dark trees of the Forest, and he remembered Acquila lying on the forest floor on that moonlit night, her blouse torn, McGonagall pale-faced as she stood over her, Harry lying bleeding in his Lion form—memories he wished he could erase from his mind forever, and from the children's minds too…

He ran a hand over his face, collecting his thoughts with quite some effort. He needed to keep calm now, think practically, use all his wits to decipher where the Cup of Hufflepuff could be. And for that, he needed to stop dwelling on that terrible night. It was strange, but nightmares about Greyback hurting Harry and Acquila plagued him worse that his nightmares of Azkaban had ever done.

"Good Godric," he swore under his breath.

He didn't want to go home now. He wanted to think, decide on the next course of action before he told the children about the Cup. For once, he wanted to be a step ahead of things, to inspire some confidence in the children, to believe in his _own_ self after the happenings of the past few days. Crouch Junior was still at large, leaving them with absolutely no clue about his whereabouts… and that meant Voldemort was firmly in the lead in their battle for power. But the knowledge of the Cup of Hufflepuff got them some of the momentum back. And he needed to find it soon, gather leads on where it could be hidden… or with _whom_ it could be hidden.

Minutes later, instead of going back to Grimmauld Place, he found himself disapparating to London, in a dark back-alley of a building that was now familiar to him.

He knocked on the door of the second-storeyed flat, and within moments, a bleary-eyed Remus opened the door, looking panicked on seeing Sirius before him.

"Padfoot!" he exclaimed. "What's the matter? Is it the kids? Did something happen?"

"Calm down, Moony. Everything's alright," said Sirius, only now realising that this perhaps wasn't the right time to come knocking on Remus' door. It was already way past midnight, and Remus had his own life now… with Nymphie, in his new house...

"Come on in," said Remus, leading him to the cosy little living room. "I take it something's happened. Why didn't you use the fireplace?"

"I didn't exactly want to knock on McGonagall's door this late at night, asking leave to use her floo network," said Sirius, settling into the chair.

"You're coming from Hogwarts!" said Remus eagerly, wide awake now. "Is it about the—"

"Where's Nymphie?" Sirius cut him off, looking around. He couldn't put Nymphie in danger by having her know of the existence of the Horcruxes. She already knew too much: from the Soul Bond to Harry's Animagus form.

"She's asleep. She had a long day today. It's Mad Eye's last week at the Auror training programme, and he's making the trainees work crazy hours," replied Remus.

Sirius smiled, remembering the days of old when James and he were Auror trainees, when Mad Eye would make them work their arses off for hours at a time. With Mad Eye set to leave the Auror trainer's post for good and join Hogwarts as the DADA professor, Sirius could imagine how hard he was making his charges slog before he bid them adieu.

"So, what did Dumbledore tell you?" asked Remus, uncharacteristically impatient.

Sirius swished his wand, cast a privacy charm in case Nymphie woke up, and then grinned at Remus. "He got hold of Hokey's memory – Hepzibah Smith's elf. You know the tale of the Cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff… _that_ 's one of Voldy's Horcruxes."

"The Cup of Hufflepuff? So it really exists then? Merlin!" whispered an awed Remus. "So Voldemort _did_ choose objects that were related to the Founders of Hogwarts, then: the Locket, the Ring, the Cup of Hufflepuff now… that leaves Gryffindor and Ravenclaw—"

"We only know of Gryffindor's Sword, that's at Hogwarts, of course," put in Sirius.

"And Ravenclaw… well, there's the legendary Diadem. But there's been no information about it since centuries. At least Hufflepuff's Cup was always known to have existed. But the Diadem's always seemed more of a myth," said Remus thoughtfully.

Sirius nodded. "But that's not the point. We know of three Horcruxes already – the Ring, the Cup and Harry."

Remus sighed at the mention of Harry.

Sirius was glad Remus had forgiven him for keeping him in the dark about it, but in the past weeks, he had seen how much the knowledge of Harry being a Horcrux was worrying the werewolf.

"We can't do anything about the soul fragment in Harry," said Remus. "We have no clue about where the Ring is—"

"Bellatrix," cut in Sirius. "Voldy wouldn't have Obliviated her if she knew nothing of the Horcruxes."

"But you visited her place and you found nothing there," interjected Remus.

"Voldemort gave the Diary to Lucius, he gave something to Bellatrix. There's every possibility that he gave the Cup to one of his other followers," said Sirius. It was something he'd known for months now. But now that he knew what exactly Voldemort had chosen as a Horcrux – the Cup of Hufflepuff – he had a proper ground to zero in on who could possibly have the Horcrux.

"Like Nott?" asked Remus thoughtfully.

"Possibly," said Sirius. "They'd have to be people Voldemort trusted enough to give them something that shelters a part of his soul… Nott was pretty high up the Death Eater ranks."

"As was Evan Rosier," put in Remus. "But he died around the end of the War. You think Nathan Rosier could know something about it? You could ask him."

"Not so soon," said Sirius cautiously. It was only recently, during the party they'd thrown, that he'd impressed upon Nathan the necessity for him to choose a side soon. He would have to let Nathan make the choice on his own. If he agreed to join the Light, it would be easier to question him about whether he knew of a possible Horcrux. If he chose the Dark, then well… Sirius knew quite a few ways and means to prise the truth out of people – something he didn't yet want to use on Nathan Rosier who could be a valuable ally in the battle against Voldemort.

"Do you think he gave a Horcrux to… well, Pettigrew?" asked Remus slowly.

"No," muttered Sirius. Voldemort would never have thought Peter worthy enough of the honour of receiving a Horcrux for safekeeping.

"Yaxley, then? Macnair? Rowle?" went on Remus.

"I doubt it," said Sirius. "But I can find out…"

Remus sighed, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Let me talk to him. You both will only end up bickering. And Severus will never reveal anything to you when he feels slighted by you. I can deal with him better—"

"No," said Sirius, remembering clasping Snape's forearm, the spells of magic streaming from Andromeda's wand binding his childhood nemesis in an Unbreakable Vow sworn to protect Harry. " _I_ will talk to Snape. Soon."

 **oOo**

The fire flared, the flames dancing wildly, the smoke seeming to unfurl up to the very skies.

Acquila watched the fire engines stationed on the street outside. Curious Muggles had gathered around, while the firemen urged them to move away from the fierce jets of water spraying on the flaming house at the end of the street.

Nobody was hurt; the owners had rushed out of the house. But mere news of the fire had been enough to get her Dad speeding home.

While Acquila had thought that having Grimmauld Place under the Fidelius was security enough, her Dad apparently didn't deem it so. Harry and she had got to know just _today_ that there were magical wards all around, alerting Sirius and Remus to the slightest signs of something untoward happening anywhere in a kilometer-long radius of Grimmauld Place.

Sirius had arrived with Kingsley barely minutes after the Muggle fire alarm had blared. While Kingsley had gone off to the burning house, checking discreetly for any signs of magic, her Dad had paced around at home, re-casting the security wards, unreasonably unnerved for what was just a fire.

All of it: Sirius' creased brow, Kingsley's Auror demeanour, Harry worrying because _Sirius_ was worrying… it had only unsettled Acquila, making her long to go back to France, devoid of the hustle and bustle of London, where there was no Voldemort to worry about, where the Soul Bond had been away from her thoughts. They had roamed around without the slightest Auror detail there, where nobody had even recognised them, and her Dad had seemed a completely different person with his infectious carefreeness and easy laughter.

Days ago, the moment she had let go of the international Portkey, steadied her feet and arrived at London, it had been akin to a rude awakening for Acquila. They had all stared at them – the officials who had cleared their re-entry into wizarding Britain; whispers of _Potter_ and _Black_ had been audible. But what had made her freeze was just one word: _Greyback,_ printed boldly on one of the newspapers lying on the table at the reception.

It had all come back to her – that horrific night in the Forbidden Forest that she had succeeded in pushing to the back of her mind during their stay in France. But this was Britain, of course; Greyback's death was still finding its way into the news, especially after the Werewolf Rights Act was still being discussed widely.

"Acquila." Harry's voice jolted her out of her thoughts.

"Hey," she said, shifting to make place for him on the couch by the window, almost glad that he had interrupted her before her thoughts could take a darker turn.

"Here," he said, handing her a glass of chilled Butterbeer.

"Thanks," she said, finding herself smiling when Harry grinned at her.

He was looking rather nice today, she mused. The green t-shirt he had worn brought out the colour of his eyes. His hair had grown longer now, falling to his shoulders, messier than ever. She was sure it wouldn't last long, though. Aunt Andy would take one look at him and chop his hair off to a more decent length.

Acquila hesitated only a moment before she ruffled his hair, messing up his locks which were as inky black as her own.

"Hey!" Harry protested, batting her hand away and unsuccessfully trying to straighten up the mussed up strands. He pouted indignantly, before a smile slipped through.

"You've been rather quiet all noon," he said moments later, as she went back to staring out of the window.

"Just watching the Muggles… Dad and Kingsley could've just put out the fire, you know, with magic, and then Obliviated the Muggles or something… This is going to take hours," she said, pointing at the dense smoke that now blurred the sight of the firemen.

Harry just shrugged. "Sirius seemed strange today. I mean, it's just a fire… no big deal…"

"He's getting too paranoid," Acquila muttered. "He'll put Mad Eye to shame, the way he's been going."

Harry nodded. "Sirius worries too much about us. And speaking of Mad Eye, you think he'll stop Auror training long enough for Dora to have lunch with us tomorrow? It's been ages since we've seen her."

"We could call them over," said Acquila, "For dinner tonight. Dora, Aunt Andy and Uncle Ted—and Remus, of course! I've missed Remus."

"Me too!" Harry grinned.

It was a little strange not having Remus around. Since the end of their first year at Hogwarts, Remus had always lived with them – first at Black Manor, and then at Grimmauld Place.

Though he had moved in with Dora into their Muggle flat at the beginning of the summer vacations, he'd been at Grimmauld Place most of the time before they left for France, helping them practice their spell-casting and the Patronus Charm. But now that he'd begun his work as the Head of the Werewolf Liaison Office, Remus didn't really have much time to spare for them. With Sirius at work all day, it left only Harry and her at home with the elves – not that she minded that much, though.

Before they left for France, things had been awkward between Harry and her. She still remembered kissing him in the stables, and then pushing him away as she had been reminded of Greyback. After that, it had all gone downhill. But their vacation had changed things, bringing them back to being the best of friends that they'd always been – chatting and laughing and pulling his legs about how he had mooned over Fleur Delacour.

"Hey, not Fleur again!" Harry groaned, taking her empty Butterbeer glass from her hands, his fingers brushing hers.

He didn't even seem to realise that he had latched onto her thoughts again.

Acquila, too, decided to let it slide.

She didn't want to think of it now, not when Harry and she had begun enjoying each other's company since their French vacation, when it was so pleasant talking to him like before, and entwining her fingers with his as they stared at the starlit skies at night, traipsing through the streets of Paris, having Harry help her choose from the dozens of dresses that she'd tried on at the Muggle stores, laughing in delight as they enjoyed the rides at Disneyland…

She watched Harry take their glasses to the sink. He'd wash them, dry them and put them back in their place, she knew. The elves would fret, of course. Mopsy would shriek about how _little master shouldn't do Mopsy's work for her,_ and Kreacher would mutter under his breath. But Harry still stuck to the little habits that the years of living with the Dursleys had drilled into him.

She sometimes liked that about him. How he was still the boy she had known back in the Muggle world, despite all his Boy Who Lived fame… He always tidied his own room, even though Mopsy and Kreacher would have readily done all he asked them to. Sometimes, he even sent the elves off and made breakfast for them all, doing the dishes and sometimes helping Mopsy out with weeding in the gardens when they were at Black Manor.

"Hey," Harry roused her from her thoughts again. "You're quiet again."

She only smiled.

She had taken to thinking a lot lately – about Harry and her.

Oh, she was content with how _normal_ they were now. But Sirius' words were always in her thoughts. Her Dad had told her to make up her mind; to stop taking Harry's patience for granted.

 _Don't hurt him, don't keep him hanging like this,_ Sirius had said.

But it was tough – making up her mind.

Oh, she loved Harry. She always would. And she liked him, _that_ way.

But the Soul Bond made her nervous; what she had done in the Forbidden Forest – possessing Harry, willing his body to transform, dictating his every action – it was too much power to have over a person. What was more frightening was that Harry could have the same power over her if he chose to use it. He could possess her, too. He could already latch on to her thoughts without even trying to do so; it happened without even the slightest of effort now – delving into each other's minds.

Something had changed since that night in the Forbidden Forest, Acquila knew. And it was scaring her more than she could admit to anyone, even her Dad.

She could feel Harry's presence at the back of her mind, _always_. It was something latent, but it _was_ there. If he put in some effort into it, she knew he could easily access even the deepest recesses of her mind.

It was the same for her. She had literally _felt_ all his thoughts about Fleur. She had found herself _fancying_ Fleur for a moment, admiring her willowy figure and her shiny hair and the deep blue of her eyes – all because Harry had been literally drooling over the girl.

And Acquila had _hated_ it! Not just because she was envious of how the girl had Harry wrapped around her finger with her Veela charm, but because Harry's amorous sentiments about Fleur had been strong enough to spill over into Acquila's mind and override her _own_ dislike of the girl! If Sirius hadn't snapped her out of it, Acquila wasn't sure she could have pushed Harry's emotions out of her mind on her own, which was worrying.

And there were other things too – one other thing to be precise. Something was wrong with her, with her _magic._

They practiced their spells alone for most part of the day, just the two of them. They hadn't made much progress with the Patronus charm. Well, _Acquila_ hadn't. Harry was doing pretty well at it. The wisps of the silvery spell were getting stronger every time he cast the Patronus charm. He was getting better at the Animagus transformation, too.

Since they'd been back from France, he could slip into his Lion form with far greater ease under Sirius' watchful eyes every evening after he came back from work. Unlike the time Harry had transformed for their friends, when Acquila had needed to prod his mind and body into the complete transformation again, now Harry didn't need her help at all. He could transform all by himself; and then transform back into his human form except for the one time Sirius had helped him.

Even when they duelled, Harry's spells now had a lot more power in them… more powerful than Acquila's own spells, if she was honest.

She didn't mind that. She didn't mind Harry being better at magic than her. But what irked her was that _her_ magical graph was falling as much as Harry's was rising.

She hadn't progressed on the Patronus charm much. Even thinking of the happiest times she'd had in France didn't seem to help.

Despite her best efforts, she hadn't been able to transform into her Eagle form too. Her Dad assured her that it was only because it was tougher to transform into birds than animals. But she knew that wasn't the reason.

Her spells were weaker now. Hell, she didn't think she could cast spells wandlessly now; even if she did, they'd be just feeble imitations of the once she used to cast when she was younger. Sometimes, she thought back to her younger days with a deep longing. It had been barely three years ago that her fury had fuelled her magic enough to make Dumbledore's very office tremble, sending the spindly glass instruments crashing to the floor and making the portraits sway perilously with the force of her anger. She remembered Lucius Malfoy bursting into flames in the Ministry, years ago, when the Malfoys had fought Aunt Andy for her guardianship. Then at the end of her first year, she had battled Quirrel-Voldemort even without her wand. And then, just last year, she had found her magic shooting off the tips of her very fingers when Ginny-Voldemort had disarmed her in the Chamber of Secrets.

Where had all that power gone now? Why couldn't she even cast simple spells with the power she used to channel into them? Why was her magic seeming to go completely downhill? She didn't know; but she thought it had something to do with the Soul Bond.

It was probably just her being foolish, but since that night in the secret passage, months ago, when she had first snogged Harry, the Bond had begun to strengthen, cording itself tighter and tighter around Harry and her, affecting their magic differently. That night when she had possessed Harry only seemed to have aggravated it all, weakening her magic as much as it strengthened Harry's.

"You seem upset," said Harry quietly, frowning now. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, hoping he hadn't sensed what she was truly feeling. She didn't want to raise the matter of the Bond. Not now, when they had just shrugged off the awkwardness and rekindled their friendship.

Harry nodded, though he didn't seem convinced. He looked at her, a little closely. She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, meeting his gaze. He was looking at her out of concern, but when she held his gaze a little longer, there was something in his expression, something in his eyes – that little gleam that told her how his tummy was flopping as much as hers was. For half a moment, she wanted to rush to him, put her arms around his neck and press her lips to his, threading her fingers through that messy mop of hair, and feel his hand at the small of her back, tugging her closer to him.

"Hey," he said, his voice sounding deeper. She knew he had caught on to her thoughts, his own colourful ones adding to them.

"Acquila," he said, the one word making her cheeks flame. She waited for him to say something, for him to _do_ something.

But he seemed to hesitate – not the coy hesitation that was so like him, but something different, something nervous and scared. Within moments, she knew what he was worried about: that day in the stables, when she had been reminded of Greyback assaulting her, when she had pushed Harry away and fled away in tears.

Her face flamed again, but with embarrassment this time.

"Sorry!" Harry exclaimed, "I didn't mean to remind you of—I just—"

"It's okay," she said hurriedly, not wanting to worsen matters. She wasn't the trembling, cowering girl she had been in the immediate days after being attacked by Greyback, when the mere mention of his name would remind her of how he had groped her in the Forbidden Forest, when she was sure she would never escape his clutches in time. She was better now, stronger. "I'm fine—I'm okay—"

"I know!" said Harry quickly, "I know you are—I just—"

"It's alright," she said again.

He nodded. The eagerness she had felt mere moments ago was gone now, as were the butterflies in her belly.

"You want to duel again?" he asked her, running a hand through his hair.

"Later?" she said, eager to practice her spells and get back to being as proficient as she had been with magic, but deciding she just wanted some time with herself.

"Alright." Harry smiled as she walked up the staircase and to her room.

At times like these, she missed having a confidante, a true friend. Oh, she had friends, of course – Hermione, Ron, Neville… she even had Dora… but they all knew Harry; and she knew she couldn't get a neutral opinion from them, considering how they would always keep Harry's feelings and wishes in mind, too. There was Draco, of course, whom she trusted immensely now; but he couldn't help her with Harry when he still resented him so much.

She missed having someone she could have opened her heart and mind to… someone like Mrs Smith… someone like a _mother,_ someone Acquila could never have. For half a moment, she remembered the clearing in the Gamp Forest, her mother's ghostly apparition floating out from the Locket Horcrux, terrible but beautiful, so close yet so far, filling Acquila's heart with a yearning for Athena that she'd never felt before.

Her fingers brushed absently over the cursed scar on her clavicle, where the Locket had burned into her skin, the cold chain trying to strangle her to death.

She shook her head to clear it of the macabre thoughts. It was just so _sad_ how she couldn't think of her Mum without thinking of the fatal Locket. The memory of almost being killed by the Locket tarred everything she had ever imagined of her Mum, coloured every snippet she had ever collected about Athena – from Aunt Andy and her Dad and Remus – with the darkness and fear that the thought of Voldemort and his Horcruxes evoked in her.

She sped up the stairs towards her room, wondering if her Dad would allow them to go to Black Manor in the evening. She could go for a long ride on Calliope, let the feeling of flying unhindered clear her mind a bit.

"Oh!" she exclaimed when she opened the door to her room. Waiting for her were a pile of gifts at the foot of her bed.

She smiled widely. She was always delighted to receive gifts because she had got so few of them during her childhood at the Orphanage.

It seemed like it was her birthday all over again. They had been in France for her birthday, and all their mail arrived at Black Manor, where her Dad had the elves check all their post for anything suspicious. Mopsy had probably brought it all over to Grimmauld Place today.

"Harry!" she called out aloud, knowing Mopsy had already placed a similar pile of gifts in his room (they had been in France for Harry's birthday too). They could open their presents together.

"Coming!" she heard Harry call.

She grabbed at the biggest of the gift boxes, knowing from the elegant handwriting that it was a gift from Draco, when she saw a bouquet of flowers that Mopsy had kept on her table.

They were roses – yellow and white and the prettiest shade of pink.

Acquila wasn't really a girl who loved flowers, but she couldn't help sniff at the roses, inhaling their fragrance, wondering how they'd stayed fresh through the days since her birthday. They were probably charmed, she decided, before she spotted a note.

 _Dear Acquila,_

 _Happy Birthday!_

 _You're probably in France now. I hope you're enjoying! Did you visit any of the magical places we spoke about? You'll tell me all about your trip when we meet next, won't you?_

 _See you at the World Cup finals! And have a great birthday!_

 _Cedric._

That was all the note said, but Acquila couldn't help but smile that Cedric had remembered her birthday yet again, her earlier surliness fleeing rapidly.

 **oOo**

"My Lord." Severus' weak voice sounded loud in the quiet of the house that was broken intermittently by the merrily crackling flames in the hearth, a stark contrast to the heavy cold that seemed to permeate through the very air he breathed in, despite the warmth of the summer.

The Dark Lord said nothing, while Severus kept his head bowed, concentrating on the sound of his own breathing – calm and steady, in and out, in and out.

His knees were aching due to prolonged contract with the hard floor, his entire body twitching suddenly – an after-effect of being subjected to the Crutiatus Curse.

 _One, two, three, four,_ Severus counted mentally. The second shudder, expectedly, came at the count of four. But despite having known it was coming, Severus found that he felt like he no control over himself at all, his limbs twitching, his knees aching worse than ever, before the shudder passed away as suddenly as it had come. It would return after a few minutes, Severus knew, and continue long after the pain from the Crutiatus had died down. He was well-versed with the agonising pain since the past few days that he had established contact with the Dark Lord, begged to be taken into his service, done all that he could to keep his promise to Dumbl—he dispelled the thought away before he could complete it.

Losing the iron grip he had over his mind could mean losing his very life, and those of _others_ , too.

 _In and out,_ he thought, hearing the sound of his level breathing in the silence of the room. Calm and steady, in and out.

"My Lord," he repeated, while the fire in the hearth devoured the last remnants of the wooden logs, exuding warmth that Severus couldn't feel… not when the Dark Lord sat before him in his abhorrent form, casting an insurmountable shadow over everything that was bright and warm and good in Severus' thoughts.

He couldn't see him because of his bowed head, but he knew the Dark Lord's terrible red eyes were boring into him. "I beseech you to trust me, my Lord," Severus pleaded, his voice hoarse. "I am yours to command. I am—"

The pain rushed at him, suddenly, all-consuming, more intense than he had suffered in recent days.

They were burning him, scalding his flesh, his bones, his very soul – the white-hot knives that plunged into him, deeper and deeper until he lost his grip on himself and found himself falling to the floor in agony, barely swallowing the screams he wanted to unleash (he knew the Dark Lord wouldn't take kindly to weakness), his head feeling like it would burst into a thousand little pieces—but he _couldn't_! He couldn't think of the pain, not now, not when he knew what was coming, not when the Dark Lord was going to—and _then_ it came, the force with which the Dark Lord bored into his mind, somehow, seeming more agonising than the torture inflicted by the Cruciatus Curse.

Severus held his fort against the mighty, ravaging storm that sought every memory that he even remotely valued. But his hold was only momentary. He let go of his resistance, partly to hide the true extent of his Occlumency abilities, and partly because he couldn't have held on any longer; the torture he had borne reducing him to a mere shell of the wizard he otherwise was.

Memories flew past him, the Dark Lord tugging at the ones he wished to inspect: of being jeered at by James Potter, at being hit by his father, of seeing Dumbledore's blackened hand and wishing that— _and wishing the curse had taken the Headmaster's life instead of just his hand, but playing his expected part when Dumbledore asked him to do his best at healing him, doing everything that he ought to do to avoid arousing the tiniest of Dumbledore's suspicions… watching Potter plunging to the ground from his broomstick, waiting with bated breath for that meddling traitor to paint the ground crimson with his lifeblood, but fuming as that dratted old man saved Potter's life again… observing how Lucius' words in support of Black threatened the loyalties of his fellow Death Eaters including Nott, and then interjecting with words of his own that spoke volumes in favour of the Dark Lord and his certain return to power…_

As suddenly as the painful intrusion in his mind had begun, it ceased, the Dark Lord withdrawing from its depths, leaving him with nothing but the pain that the Crutiatus left. It took Severus a moment to collect himself, to keep the false memories at the forefront of his mind and push the real ones deeper inside, where no one could ever find them, not even the Dark Lord with his mighty Legilimency powers.

"It seems you speak truly, Severus," said the Dark Lord, his voice thin, with nothing of the tenor it once possessed.

Severus sat up, every inch of his body screaming in agony as he knelt again. "I would never dream of lying to you, my Lord," he whispered, a sudden spasm of pain making him grit his teeth before the pain passed away. He was far older now than he was during the War; and more than a decade of living in relative peace seemed to have substantially lessened his resistance to pain. But he would build himself up again – physically and mentally. He would _have_ to, Severus knew, if he were to fulfil the tasks he had been entrusted with.

"I know the fate that will await me if I am false to you," went on Severus. He had repeated the same words twice before, on the two occasions he met the Dark Lord, tried to convince him of his loyalty to him, his hatred of Dumbledore, his rancour for Harry Potter. But the Dark Lord was yet to trust him.

"This past decade of working at Hogwarts, gaining Dumbledore's trust – it was all a ruse, my Lord. My loyalties have always lain with you—" Severus almost started as he heard the sound of something heavy slithering towards him on the floor, his heart skipping a beat.

He knew what it was: the Dark Lord's beloved serpent. _Nagini,_ she was called. Severus could not see her from where he knelt, but he knew the snake was sniffing him – for the slightest sign of lies and deception, however impossible that sounded for a reptile. The serpent, beautiful though she was, made Severus feel uneasy, her forked tongue and glittering eyes making a chill run down his spine the last time the snake had looked at him, invoking a sudden sense of fatal foreboding in him.

"I have always been faithful to you, my Lord," Severus continued swiftly, wishing he could keep half an eye on the slithering serpent. "Since the moment I was completely certain of your presence, I have been trying to reach out to you, my Lord. It is only now that I—"

"Severus," the Dark Lord interrupted him, while Severus could hear the serpent slithering past him and towards the fearsome wizard, wanting to heave a sigh of relief. "I need more than your words to assure me of your faithfulness. You, of all people, should know that."

Severus nodded, his head still bowed. Of course he knew mere words weren't enough. The Dark Lord had trusted him enough to let him into Riddle Manor protected by the Fidelius Charm which had hoodwinked even Black (as Barty Crouch Junior had told him, cackling with glee as he narrated how Black had stood within mere metres of Crouch, but still been unable to see or sense him because of the Fidelius). But that had only been because the Dark Lord needed someone to work for him, someone other than Crouch Junior who was being hunted by the entire Auror Department. Severus' arrival had meant the Dark Lord had another servant now; but that still didn't mean he trusted Severus completely.

"I am prepared to do whatever it takes to prove my loyalty to you, my Lord," he said.

"Arise," said the Dark Lord after a long moment of silence

Severus stood up, struggling a little, his limbs aching as he finally got to his unsteady feet,

"Arise, and await my command," ordered the fearsome wizard. "I shall call upon you soon. And if you fail me, you know what awaits _you_."

"I shall not fail you, my Lord," swore Severus, finally looking at the Dark Lord, at the terrible, terrible form that Potter had reduced him to, at the giant snake coiled around the frightening, loathsome remnants of the great Lord Voldemort. "I give you my word."

Severus bowed, respectfully, before he walked away at the Dark Lord's nod, acknowledging Barty Crouch Junior, who stood near the door, with a curt nod of his own. He stared momentarily at the burnt ruins that were visible from the window – an elaborate arrangement that had fooled even Black, leaving no trace of the massive manor that lay securely under the Fidelius Charm.

A moment later, Severus twisted into nothingness, the familiar feeling of disapparation taking over him before his feet touched solid ground again, sensing the relief that was now becoming commonplace for him with how his visits to the Dark Lord had increased in their frequency recently.

With a moment to collect himself after having emptied the contents of his stomach onto the grasses – another effect of the torture curse – Severus glanced at the mighty Castle of Hogwarts from where he stood before the large gates. He vanished all traces of the bile, and then walked through the gates which opened at the touch of his hand, the darkness further shrouding his black robes in a blanket of invisibility at the late hour.

From where he stood, the journey to the Castle seemed long and weary; but persevering was something Severus was well-acquainted with. Muttering a spell that would hide him from any unlikely spying eyes, he walked to the Castle and down to his quarters in the dungeons.

It was only when he reached his room and glanced at the time that he dwelt on what he hadn't dared think of in the presence of the Dark Lord: his meeting with Black tonight. The late hour told him that he had already kept Black waiting. The pesky dog had contacted him last week, telling him that he wanted to meet Severus at Black Manor if agreeable. Severus should have been there three quarters of an hour ago. But he had lost track of time under the Dark Lord's not-so-hospitable care.

Damn.

He glanced longingly at his bed, wanting to collapse onto it and spend the next couple of days sleeping his pain and tiredness off. But that couldn't be, of course.

Gritting his teeth, he watched his mirrored reflection staring at him instead: his eyes were rather blood-shot, his body twitching at sudden intervals, his face pale and gaunt. It wouldn't do to appear so before Black, he knew. With a weary sigh that was very unlike him, he drew his wand, swishing it in quick arcs, watching his eyes return to normal, a little colour creeping into his face, glamouring his features into their usual stern, intimidating form instead of the beaten man that he had looked minutes ago.

With a slightly quivering hand – courtesy another uncontrollable shudder – he uncorked the vial he had kept ready, swallowing the bitter potion in one big gulp, knowing it would keep some of the visible after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse at bay for the next hour, and then swallowed another one that numbed the pain almost immediately.

He straightened his robes, standing up straight to his full height. Casting one last glance at himself, convinced that this was the best he could look given the circumstances, he grabbed the little box that he had concealed in the magical false bottom of the drawer in his cupboard, containing the Portkey which Black had sent him. He opened the lid, snorting contemptuously when he saw what lay in it: a crumpled plastic bottle of a Muggle soft drink. But he couldn't help be grudgingly relieved that the Portkey spared him the draining effort of Disapparition.

With a murmured word to activate the Portkey, he held the bottle which turned almost blindingly blue, and found his room disappearing around him, an unfamiliar tug at his navel.

He landed roughly on his feet on the cobbled path that led to Black Manor. The chill in the air prickled at his face – unusual for a summer night. Or perhaps, the slight coolness of the night was only aggravating the chill of Riddle Manor that had embedded itself deep into Severus' very bones. He shoved the foolish thought away, blaming it on the long torture. Straightening himself again, he walked into the Manor, keeping an eye out for a pair of familiar green eyes (though he wouldn't admit it even to himself).

"Snape," said Black, thankfully saying nothing of his late arrival as the aged house-elf led Severus into Black's study. Severus remembered the two times he had visited the place before, memories of Lily surging up suddenly from how deeply he had supressed them in the Dark Lord's presence.

Rather than dwelling on her (thanks to James Potter's best friend sitting before him, tainting his memories of Lily with a strong tinge of guilt and envy and agonising loss), he cast a glance around at the study instead, at the staircase visible from the doorway that led to the rooms above.

He knew Potter Junior wasn't here, of course. Black would never have risked inviting him to Black Manor if his bratty daughter and godson were around. But despite himself, (perhaps the strange mood every torture-session put him into was fuelling his unusually sentimental frame of mind), he found himself wishing he could just get one look at Lily's son… just to make sure Black had kept him safe after failing to keep him completely unharmed half a dozen times in the past couple of years. The mere memory of the fright that had taken hold of him when he knew Potter was in Greyback's clutches – fear the likes of which he had never thought he could feel for someone other than Lily – made him want to strangle Black to death with his bare hands.

 _How_ could Black be so careless, so bloody naïve when it came to protecting the boy he claimed to love like his own son, or the girl whose life and soul he knew was linked irreversibly to Potter? He had half a mind to rant at Black again, to let him know just what a miserable excuse for a father and protector he was. But even his supressed fury wouldn't make him get down to juvenile tiffs with Black again. It would serve nothing – they would go on and on in circles blaming each other for their faults. From making Pettigrew the Secret Keeper to divulging the Prophecy to the Dark Lord, flinging the litany of their respective mistakes and deeds could go on for hours… precious hours that Severus had no intention on losing arguing with Black.

Months ago, he wouldn't have been so… so _grown up_ about it all. But now, having seen the Dark Lord in person, with the ever-present danger leading his double life put him into, he knew the value of every breathing moment.

"Black," Severus acknowledged finally, the one word coming out far softer than the terseness he had meant to utter it with. Perhaps, his distaste of Black was won over by his newfound _maturity,_ for the lack of a better word.

It was strange what being tortured did to him, he thought wryly: made him overtly sentimental about the boy he'd never spoken a kind word to, left his vocabulary with gaping holes, unable to find the words that could describe what he was feeling, made him lose the otherwise stern tenor of his voice.

Black, much like Severus, seemed unusually pensive as he met his gaze with his grey-eyed one. Leaning back surreptitiously, his back literally singing with relief as it rested against the comfort of the soft-backed chair, Severus wondered why Black was so uncharacteristically quiet.

"You look peaky," said Black shrewdly. "More than usual that is."

Severus stilled for a moment, wondering, a little uneasily, whether Black's Auror training was proficient to make him see through even the strongest of Severus' spells and potions.

"Since when have _you_ begun to care for my wellbeing?" Severus questioned instead, his remark having the intended effect as Black rolled his eyes in a manner not unlike his daughter. Coming to think of it, it was eerie how Severus had begun noticing Acquila Black's gestures enough to recognise a similar one in her father. But he couldn't help it – protecting Potter meant protecting the girl, too, seeing how they were soul-mates… something Severus could have done very well without knowing, seeing what a spitting image of her dratted father the girl was, in looks and in arrogance as well…

"Considering the Vow you swore to protect Harry," said Black, "your wellbeing, unfortunately, becomes a matter of my concern, Snape."

"What an honour it is for me to have Lord Sirius Black care about my welfare," remarked Severus dryly, a little taken aback himself at his own feeble response when he should've verbally thrashed Black for daring to talk of Potter's safety after having neglected it himself time and again. It looked like he had truly turned a new leaf now, holding his tongue and his temper, letting bygones be bygones… or perhaps, the torture had made him tired enough to even ignore the unintentional baits Black threw his way.

"But I am sure you didn't call me here to comment on my health," Severus went on. "I have better things to do than sit up _chatting_ with you."

"Alright," said Black, seeming as well-behaved as Severus himself.

Usually, Black would have followed Severus' remarks with barbs about how _Snivellus_ spent his nights creeping around the Castle like a lonely, overgrown _bat._ But Black said nothing of that sort, choosing instead to rest his hand on the armrest of his huge chair with the Black crest prominent on the tall headrest, his fingers tapping on the cushioned wood.

"How close were you to Lestrange?" asked Black quietly, grey eyes boring into Severus' dark ones.

"Rudolphus?" asked Severus curiously.

"No, Bellatrix."

Severus stared at Black, a little taken aback. Why was Black asking questions about Bellatrix Lestrange of all people?

"I cannot claim to know her too well," he replied coolly, "She was the Dark Lord's right hand, while I was not high up in the Death Eater ranks until the very end of the War when—"

"—when you divulged the Prophecy to Voldemort, yes," said Black, though without his usual venom, making Severus wonder what was eating at Black enough to even make him forget that the man sitting before him was the very one who led to the beginning of his best friend's fatal end.

"So Bellatrix never trusted you with her secrets, then?" went on Black.

Severus had half a mind to chuckle at that. Bellatrix only ever trusted the Dark Lord, not even her husband or brother-in-law, let alone half-blood Severus Snape. "No," he replied shortly, "But surely _you_ know Bellatrix far better than me, Black. After all, she was your beloved cousin before things went south for you Blacks."

Black watched him mutely before he spoke again. "So if Voldemort ever entrusted her with something, you wouldn't have been one to know of it?"

"Depends on what you mean by _entrusted,_ " replied Severus, a little bemused by the turn this conversation was taking. "Though Bellatrix was the closest to him, the Dark Lord, like your dear cousin, did not trust anyone."

"But he trusted Lucius Malfoy," pointed out Black.

Severus watched Black, his mind suddenly more alert, reverting back to how it had been before the Dark Lord's assault on it. "Trusted Lucius with that cursed diary, you mean? So you think there is something else like the diary? Something that can take over people like it did to the Weasley girl?"

"There could be." Black shrugged.

"You wouldn't have wanted to talk to me if you weren't sure of the existence of such an object," said Severus. "Which means you are certain something like this exists."

Black's expression remained unmoved, betraying nothing. Now that he thought of it, Black's grown-up behaviour today wasn't serving Severus well seeing how reigning in his temper made Black unusually placid when it came to his usually simmering emotions that sometimes made him let on far more than he intended to.

"It is mere conjecture on my part, Snape," said Black almost carelessly.

"It doesn't seem to be," said Severus. "Why would you waste your time over an object that might not even _exist_ instead of trying to—to—track down the Dark Lord?"

Damn. He had almost been about to say 'track down Barty Crouch', before amending his words at the very last moment. He wasn't supposed to know of Barty Crouch's survival… only a few in the Ministry knew of it.

This was just the beginning, but this double-crossing was already getting to him. He would need to be very careful with Black from now on, just like Black was being extremely careful with Severus.

"As I said, it is mere conjecture on my part." Black sounded mulish now.

"You are lying," said Severus bluntly, watching Black's lips purse at the tone his voice had taken. "You called me here to speak to me when you detest taking my help. You are telling me of something you wouldn't have told _me_ unless I was the very last resort left to you. You _know_ that something cursed like the diary exists."

"Even on the off-chance that it does, it is none of your concern," said Black coldly.

"Anything that concerns the Dark Lord _is_ my concern! You had me swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect Potter. If you do not tell me the things that matter, how do I even keep Potter safe?"

"Harry's safety is for me to take care of," said Black, a little of his short-temper showing now.

"Because you've done it so commendably well in the past, is it?" flung back Severus. _So much for being mature adults_ , he thought.

Black fumed visibly, his eyes darkening with fury, before he seemed to control himself with much effort, his deep breathing audibly loud. "I am Harry's godfather. _Lily_ trusted me to take care of him. We have had this argument half a dozen times now, Snape, and nothing is going to change your mind about me or vice versa. I suggest we put this behind us now, if we are to work together—"

"How are we to work together if you do not tell me matters in their entirety?" demanded Severus. "You cannot keep me in the dark about the truth and then expect me to work to your ends."

"To _our_ ends," corrected Black coldly, "We both, as the vow you swore will remind you, are here only because we want to keep Lily's son safe. And since you want no secrets between us, why don't we start with _you_ , Snape? I'm not an idiot. I know you've been attacked tonight – with a Dark curse, if I'm not wrong. You've used some charm on yourself, it seems. But I'd be a bloody bad Auror if I couldn't see through it. So tell me, who attacked you? And if it was Voldemort who did, why haven't you told me yet?"

Severus said nothing, keeping his breathing level despite how his heart seemed to thud. He couldn't let Black know he was already in talks with the Dark Lord, pleading for a chance to prove his loyalty – all on Dumbledore's bidding. He couldn't let Black know, not when he knew Black's ties with Dumbledore had plunged to hitherto unplumbed depths, not when the wordings of his Unbreakable Vow had had explicitly stated that he would put Potter's life above Dumbledore's views of what was right and wrong. And this – working his way into the Dark Lord's graces for Dumbledore – was certainly something Black would consider _wrong._

"I _was_ attacked," Severus lied, his voice low, "I think you already know by whom—"

"Barty Couch Junior," said Black, suddenly eager. "Did you see him? What does Voldemort want from you?"

"You can very well guess what he wants – to punish me for betraying him. Crouch attacked me, I did not expect to be waylaid by him, and I got injured, he Disapparated before I could retaliate – end of the matter. I do not wish to talk of it," said Severus brusquely.

Let Black think that he was ashamed of being beaten by the Dark Lord's underling – that was better than him knowing the truth that Severus had _already_ betrayed to the Dark Lord information about Potter that Black had strived to keep under wraps.

"You know nothing of Crouch's old hideouts? Can you fathom a guess as to where he could be hiding?" Black pressed on.

"I was never _friends_ with Barty Crouch like your brother and Rabastan Lestrange were," said Severus truthfully.

"But you must know something!" prodded Black.

"I do not know," lied Severus. "When you and your Auror force haven't been able to track him down, how would I know? He's not a fool to hide someplace that any former Death Eater could find when he knows that you have been working to get them on your side. The Dark Lord wouldn't risk that."

Black stared at him, seeming conflicted about wanting more information and letting the matter go. He finally nodded. "So we are at an agreement, then. There are things that I cannot tell you, and it is likewise for you… though I am warning you that I'll look into the attack on you."

Severus glared at him, knowing that was what was expected of him. Let Black investigate the matter all he wanted. He knew he would never have Severus questioned by the Aurors – he was too valuable an asset for Black to have his dark past raked up again by the Ministry.

"Now that we've got that out of the way, tell me, do you know anything of Voldemort entrusting something to Bellatrix?" asked Black again.

"No," replied Severus, jogging his memory. Even if the Dark Lord gave something to Bellatrix, they ensured word of it didn't trickle down the Death Eater ranks.

"If Voldemort did want to give something to his followers, whom would he trust apart from Bella?" asked Black.

"Most of them are dead, but from those who are alive, Theodore Nott," replied Severus.

"I thought as much," said Black, before he levelled a cold gaze at Severus. "And you?"

"No," Severus replied immediately. Pleading for Lily's life to be spared had ensured the Dark Lord never believed in his loyalty enough to entrust him with something like the Diary.

Black only stared at him, something flickering in his eyes. "And if you ever find out anything about it, you shall tell me of it immediately? I need your word."

There was something in Black's tone, something that told him just how crucial this matter was.

The snarky retort Severus wanted to utter died on his lips.

"I promise." Severus nodded, knowing that once he was back into the Dark Lord's good books, this was the very first thing he would need to wrangle out of his lord and master.

 **oOo**

"That was brilliant, Harry!" said George, clapping Harry's back as they walked back to the Burrow.

Harry smiled, his stomach grumbling at the scent of Mrs Weasley's delicious cooking. They'd had breakfast just a couple of hours ago, but with all the Quidditch they played, Harry found himself getting hungry ever so often.

"Yeah," said Fred. "You'd have been a good Chaser, Harry. Like your Dad, huh? Sirius told us he played pretty well!"

Harry smiled at the mention of his father. He didn't remember James Potter at all, but he always got a warm feeling within whenever someone compared him favourably with his father, although it was always followed with a sense of loss.

Suddenly, he found himself missing _Sirius_ , which was a little silly seeing they'd left Grimmauld Place mere days ago. But since the holidays began, they'd had Sirius around a lot, especially in France. So despite how full of people the Burrow was, Harry found himself longing a little for his godfather at times.

Sirius hadn't even been keen on sending them to the Burrow. But with Neville and Hermioe accepting Ron's invite to spend a few days before the World Cup Final with the Weasleys, Harry and Acquila had agreed to join them, too.

Oh, Sirius had been worried about their security, of course, despite Kingsley having personally secured the perimeter of the Burrow. Harry could understand Sirius' paranoia after what had happened with Greyback. If Sirius had his way, he'd have put an Auror guard on the Burrow. But with the on-going World Cup and the perceived security threat to it, many of the Aurors had been called on to help with the security details, so Sirius hadn't had someone assigned to guard them at the Burrow. That actually suited Harry and Acquila just fine. He was sure Mrs Weasley wouldn't have taken kindly to having someone look out for Acquila and him all the time, especially because she, like everyone else, thought that the danger was over with Greyback dead, having no knowledge of the survival of Voldemort and Barty Crouch Junior. And after the freedom they'd had in France, Harry didn't want to go back to having someone tailing them all the time.

"It's good you're a Seeker than a Chaser, Harry." Charlie's deep voice interrupted Harry's musing. "I've heard so much about your game. You'll give Krum a run for his money in a few years' time if the tales are to be believed, eh?"

Harry smiled shyly, always a little unsure whenever someone complimented him.

"Krum!" said Ron excitedly. "He might even win the Cup for Bulgaria!"

"Of course not!" put in Fred and George together.

"I know Ireland's got good Chasers and everything, but the Snitch is worth a _hundred and fifty_ points! If Krum catches it early into the game, Bulgaria could even win!" Ron seemed torn between his admiration for Krum and his support for Ireland.

"No, no, Ronnie boy," said Fred, winking. "Krum's going to catch the Snitch, but Ireland's going to win. I'll bet all my money on it."

"You mean the money you _think_ you'll earn from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" said Ron sarcastically, before his voice dropped lower. "How much do you reckon you'll make out of it? You could take me in, too, you know, as your business partner or something? I could help you—"

"No, no, no, little brother," put in George in a sing-song voice. "We don't need your help, unless of course, you'll let us test some of our products on you. There's this Boxing Telescope we're planning of making—"

"I'm _not_ going to test any of your stuff," grumbled Ron, as they walked through the hallway of the Burrow. "I've heard all the explosions that keep happening in your room. And I haven't forgotten how long Percy's tongue got when you gave him that toffee!"

"That was so funny!" put in a chuckling Ginny, startling Harry.

Ginny hardly ever spoke in his presence, except when they were on the same team playing three-a-side Quidditch. She still turned a little red when Harry spoke directly to her, and kept glancing at him at mealtimes. But she'd at least stopped being visibly jealous of Acquila, like she'd been when she had gotten to know Harry and Acquila had begun sort of dating.

"You should've been there, Harry!" Ginny sniggered, her cheeks a little pink. "Even Bill was laughing at Percy!"

Harry laughed too. He hadn't been there to watch it, but the sight of Percy wrestling with his own elongated tongue had apparently been worth all the scolding Fred and George got from Mrs Weasley. Harry himself had heard Mrs Weasley screeching about _Weasleys Wizard Wheezes,_ and all the time the twins _wasted over it_. But he thought their trick sweets and pranks were a rather cool idea – except when he'd almost eaten one of their toffees before a laughing Neville stopped him in the nick of time.

He liked it at the Burrow, Harry mused. The twins always kept everyone in splits. Charlie and Bill were great, too. Harry and Acquila had never met the oldest Weasley brothers before arriving at the Burrow. Charlie was a little short and stocky, and had blisters all over from the dragons he trained in Romania. Bill, though, was nothing like how Harry had imagined him. He was tall, thin and rather _good-looking,_ as Harry had heard Hermione and Acquila giggle one evening. With his long, pony-tailed hair, a fang dangling from a ear, and clothes that wouldn't have been out of place at a rock concert, no one would ever believe he worked with the goblins at Gringotts. The best thing about Bill, though, was the tales he told them about his job as a Curse Breaker. If Harry hadn't wanted to be an Auror like Sirius, he thought he might choose curse-breaking as a profession.

Then there was Percy, who had turned even more stoic and stern now. He kept late hours at the DMLE, where he worked as an intern. He'd apparently wanted a job at the Department of International Magical Co-operation. But after the whole saga with Barty Crouch Senior and Greyback, the Ministry had become rather meticulous on the people they employed. The Weasleys' past record with the Flying Car, sheltering Wormtail and Ginny's episode with Tom Riddle's Diary, had made Helphius Urquhart, the new Department Head, refuse to employ Percy. After making the rounds of quite some Ministry departments, Amelia Bones' office had finally taken Percy on. Ron said Percy was rather miffed with how his family members' involvement with ' _law-breaking_ ' had scuttled his chances at the job he wanted. But he'd now begun rather _too_ much pride in his job with the DMLE because it was one of the most important departments in the Ministry.

"Come on in, boys, Ginny!" Mrs Weasley greeted them when they entered the kitchen of the Burrow, bidding them to wash their hands and tuck into the food she had laid out.

It was only a while later that Harry found what he had been looking for: _Acquila._

She sat in the room she shared with Hermione and Ginny, her hair free of the braid she usually tied it in, dark tresses tumbling down to her waist as she absently rolled them up, except a few escaped tendrils of hair that fluttered in the breeze coming in through the window.

"Hey." She smiled on seeing him – a genuine smile, something he treasured after the Greyback episode. "How was Quidditch?"

"Good," he replied. "We won. Fred, Charlie and I. How was your morning? How was—"

"We're sitting here, too, you know! At least say hi!" cut in Neville teasingly.

Harry grinned at Hermione and him, a little embarrassed at having ignored them. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just—"

"—just staring at Acquila," quipped Ron, ambling in after Harry. "Yeah, we all saw that, mate."

There was a little flush in Acquila's cheeks, which Harry thought made her look adorable.

Harry smiled weakly at Ron. He still wasn't used to his friends pulling his legs about… well, about whatever it was Acquila and he had going on… though he wasn't sure whether it was even going on anymore. The last time they'd done something remotely romantic was when he had snogged her in the Black Manor stables, and then she'd pushed him away, troubled by the memories of Greyback it brought back.

He cast half a glance at Acquila, shoving away thoughts of Greyback before she could sense them and become melancholy again. He walked over to her and sat next to her, his hand absently reaching for hers, not even realising that he'd entwined his fingers with hers until he saw her smile softly at him. It felt nice – clasping her hand, being what they'd always been, without hesitance and awkwardness clouding all their interactions.

He wished he could have had _more_ , though.

Pretty often nowadays, he wished she'd make up her mind soon enough about whatever they'd had going on between them before things went downhill… about what he _wanted_ to have between them – going back to the time when he'd snog her in the secret passages in Hogwarts, her mouth warm and wet and inviting as he kissed her, her hands tangled in his hair and her breasts pressed against his chest as he pulled her closer.

He missed that.

He wanted that again.

He wanted to go the morning of the day of the Greyback episode, when he'd fallen from the broom and he'd been lying in the Hospital Wing with a worried Acquila fussing over him, when she'd promised him that they'd talkabout their _relationship_ of sorts, that she'd make up her mind about being together… _properly_ , like boyfriend and girlfriend, however sappy that sounded.

But after the trauma of whatever had happened in the Forbidden Forest, Harry couldn't very well bring up the topic again, not when Acquila hadn't even been able to kiss him without letting their intimacy be tarred by the horrific memories of the dead werewolf.

He knew… Harry _knew_ how tough it had all been on her – her aversion to even being touched by someone other than Sirius and Aunt Andy in the very early days, the way Acquila's heart raced when someone inadvertently startled her, the nightmares that still plagued her, making her wake up with her brow damp and sweaty, her heart thudding a mile a minute with fear, bile rising in her throat… He _knew_ what she had gone through. Even though she was almost recovered now, Harry knew she was still scarred by what Greyback had tried to do that night.

But he wanted to _talk_ about it; he wanted to know what exactly had happened that night, how exactly she had taken over his mind and body, how she had made him transform, know what she felt about it all, just _talk_ about it – because there was nobody else he could talk it with. Acquila had always been his best friend, his closest confidante, the one person he could tell everything to. His friends didn't know what had happened; and although Sirius was always there for him, Harry wanted to talk to Acquila about it, get a grip on what had happened that night, because she had _been_ there, in the thick of whatever had happened when he had fought with Greyback in his Lion form.

Sometimes, it still felt like it had happened to someone else, Acquila possessing him, transforming him into his complete Animagus form. He felt… violated, for some reason. But he knew she had done it only because it was the only option left. He just wanted to talk to her about it, to get his head around it.

He just … damn, he just wanted to _be_ with _her_ , know what she thought about it all, know all her fears and worries and just—just _everything_ about her, like he'd known since the time they'd been the best of friends at their Muggle school.

But instead, sometimes, he felt like he was losing her. Those amazing days he'd spent with her when they were together felt like a distant memory now. The fact that she didn't speak of them at all made things worse! Harry was a patient lad, but this was all making him rather frustrated now. He needed to know what she thought about him, whether she wanted him too, whether she still felt what she'd felt for him before.

He _knew_ she did. He tried to stop himself from even inadvertently delving into her mind, but on the rare occasion when her emotions would spill over onto him, he could still feel her tummy fluttering at something he said, that swell of delight when he kissed her cheek when he bid her good night last week, that little prick of envy when Hermione and Ron pulled his leg about Fleur, (Acquila had told them a little _too_ much about Harry falling for Fleur's Veela charm, much to his embarrassment. But that was beside the point.) He wanted to know what she thought about him, what she wanted to do about them. This indecision… he didn't think he could bear it much longer.

"So, what have you three been up to?" Ron's voice roused Harry from his thoughts. "I don't know why you don't join us for Quidditch, Acquila. If you play with us, Bill can join us too—and we can play four-a-side then!"

Hermione whispered something to Acquila, and the two girls giggled – something that was rather unusual for them. Harry watched Acquila from the corner of his eyes. She seemed happy now, smiling at something Hermione murmured to her, her eyes bright, a carefreeness to her that he hadn't seen since their return to England. For all the disgruntlement she still held for Mrs Weasley (Acquila could hold a grudge for a long, _long_ time), Harry knew she was enjoying their time at the Burrow.

"What are you giggling about?" demanded Ron, watching the two girls suspiciously.

"Nothing," said Hermione quickly, though Harry had a rather good idea about the reason for all the giggling: the girls had taken quite a fancy to Bill, it seemed. Though Acquila's crush on Bill didn't make Harry as envious he'd been on seeing the stupid flowers Cedric Diggory had sent her (though that bothered him a little less now that Fred and George told him how there were rumours that Cedric was going out with Cho Chang), he still found Acquila fancying Bill a little weird because the man was Ron's older brother.

"Come on, he _is_ handsome," said Acquila, grinning at Harry.

"Huh? What? Who's handsome?" asked a bewildered Ron. "What are you talking about?"

Harry said nothing, a little unsure of what to say. Acquila had responded to Harry's _unspoken_ remark about Bill. So Ron and Neville were obviously perplexed about her random statement. Hermione, though, was watching them shrewdly.

"Uh, nothing!" Acquila shrugged. "I was just—speaking to Hermione—"

"No, you weren't," muttered Hermione unhelpfully. But Ron, thankfully, didn't seem to have heard her.

"Harry, Dad had called," said Acquila suddenly. "He wanted to talk to you. You can call him later. He'll be at work now, I guess. He said he's been called to help with the final tests for the Auror trainees…"

"So Dora will be an Auror soon, huh?" said Ron. "That's so cool! And she's a Metamorphmagus, too! That's so wicked! I wish I could so something like that… change my appearance at will or turn into an _animal_ at will—"

"No, not again, Ron!" Hermione and Neville groaned together. Harry had half a mind to join in.

Since they'd come to the Burrow, Ron had been rather insistent about learning to be an Animagus himself.

Harry thought he rather understood where Ron's desire stemmed from: Bill was the oldest, and a Curse Breaker. Charlie dealt with dragons, which was a rather cool job. Percy would surely rise high in the Ministry; he'd been Head Boy and scored brilliantly on his NEWTs. Fred and George were… well, they were _Fred and George._ With their Quidditch skills and their pranks and their joke products now, they'd already carved a place for themselves. Ginny, of course, was their only sister and her parents' darling. That left Ron, with too much to do for something that would set him apart. So Harry could quite understand where his ardent wish to be an Animagus was coming from. It would make him as cool as his siblings… umm, apart from Percy, that is.

"Come on, you could teach me, Harry! I promise I won't mess it up!" pleaded Ron.

"Harry _cannot_ teachyou to transform into your Animagus form," exclaimed Hermione. "You heard what Acquila said… first they drank the potion and everything to see the animal form they'd take. Without it, the transformation would've been even tougher. And we can't get the potion from a store without the Ministry's permission, Ron!"

"We could brew it ourselves!" interjected Ron eagerly, as Harry shared an amused glance with Acquila.

"We _can't_ brew the potion ourselves," said Neville, seeming a little fed up, which wasn't strange considering they'd had this same discussion twice in the past three days. "Hermione said some of the ingredients required aren't even available in Potion stores, remember?"

"I know, but maybe Sirius could get it for us, Harry?" Ron put in eagerly, "Ask your Dad, Acquila! If he gets the potion for us, Neville, Hermione and I transform, too, then we'll be like the Marauders—just that we'll be five of us instead of four! And—and we even have the Map and everything! And I'll have something to gloat about to Fred and George, and maybe even Percy!"

"I'll talk to Sirius—" began Harry half-heartedly, with a glance at Acquila again. He was sure Sirius wouldn't really agree to procure the potion from Slughorn again, considering that would bring him into direct conflict Mrs Weasley's fierce motherly instincts of preventing her son from getting into anything illegal again. Mrs Weasley's wrath after the Flying Car incident was still fresh in Harry's mind, as was her initial cold war with Sirius mere days after his acquittal.

"Even if we get the potion, it won't necessarily be easy to transform, Ron," sighed Neville. "I mean it's brilliant and everything, but I'm not really good at Transfiguration. If Acquila still hasn't been able to transform, there's no chance in hell that _I_ can…"

"Don't be so cynical, Neville," said Ron. "Let us at least try—"

Harry didn't quite hear the rest of what Ron said as he noticed Acquila's expression turn suddenly stoic. He was surprised for a moment, wondering what had caused her amusement to turn to irritation, when he realised that it was what Neville had said: that Acquila hadn't been able to transform yet.

"Hey," he said quietly, shifting closer to her, lightly squeezing her hand which was still clasped in his. "You know what Sirius said… it isn't the same for everyone… transforming. And—"

"—and birds are tougher to transform into than animals, yeah, yeah, I know," muttered Acquila, pre-empting what he was going to say. "But I—I just…" she trailed off, shrugging.

This was another thing she didn't like talking of, he'd noticed, her _failure (_ as he'd heard her thinking often) at transforming into her Eagle form. She had kept practicing the transformation for hours on end back at Grimmauld Place. And she _had_ improved, Harry knew she had. But she never got the complete transformation right, unlike how Harry could easily transform into a Lion now.

"We could practice," murmured Acquila, her good mood seeming to dissipate.

There was a storm brewing in those grey eyes, Harry noticed, something gloomy simmering underneath her controlled expression – it had been present since days after their arrival in England, since that terrible night in the Forbidden Forest.

"We haven't practiced the Patronus charm since we've come here—I haven't even cast a single spell!" Acquila muttered. "There's hardly any time left for school to begin. Let's practice tonight, when everyone's asleep—"

"You know we can't," said Harry quietly. "Mrs Weasley doesn't allow underage magic. She won't be pleased—"

"She won't even know!" exclaimed Acquila in an annoyed whisper. "Or I'll ask Fred and George to plan a diversion if she suspects something! You know how they're going on about testing some of their stuff—"

"No, no," cut in Harry. "Mrs Weasley won't like it. And come on, it's just a few days! After the World Cup, we'll be back home—"

"And then we'll be back to school in no time, and you know we can't practice as much at Hogwarts. Hermione keeps asking where we're going, and Filch is always poking his nose around," grumbled Acquila. "You don't _understand_!"

Harry watched her quietly, a little taken aback at that last statement.

She thought _he_ didn't understand? Even without all the mind-sharing business, he could've understood what she was feeling! Did she think he didn't know that it irked her that she wasn't progressing at the Patronus Charm? While Harry was certain he'd achieve a corporeal Patronus in the coming months, Acquila's attempts at the charm hadn't been as good. Even when they duelled, he'd noticed that his spells were more powerful now, hitting the intended target unerringly eight times out of ten. Acquila hadn't been doing as well as he was—and he _understood_ that! Though she didn't tell him, he knew she didn't like lagging behind at things! He knew the other things too—like how she was still worried about possessing him in the Forbidden Forest, and how they hadn't got any leads on Helga Hufflepuff's Cup—he _did_ understand her! He was her _soul mate_ for Merlin's sake!

"I'm—I'm sorry," whispered Acquila, grey eyes meeting Harry's. "I didn't mean to say you don't understand. I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just—"

"I get it," Harry cut her off, his irritation suddenly fleeing. It was strange what a single word from her could to him, how a single smile could make all his worries seem like nothing. It was because of the Bond, he knew. Uncle Ted would've said it wasn't healthy. But Harry didn't mind. Not when Acquila was clasping his hand again now, waiting for him to say something.

"I know," Acquila began again. "I know I'm being—"

"Hey!" George's cheery voice startled them. He was standing at the door, Fred next to him. "Dad's just come, and you've got to hear this! Moody had some fight with the Muggle law enforcement blokes—what do you call them, Harry? Please-men or something?"

"The police?" asked Harry, suddenly curious. "What did Mad Eye do?"

"Something about exploding dustbins he'd magicked to warn him about intruders," chuckled Fred, "Sent a shower of garbage blasting right at the policemen's faces!"

"Dad's not going to be pleased," said Acquila, though she was grinning now.

Harry chuckled too, following her down the stairs to Mr Weasley.

 **oOo**

It was one of the most pleasant mornings they'd had in a while – neither too hot, nor too sunny, a perfect day for Quidditch, and for a picnic.

The bright blue of the sky stretched as far as Ginny could see, only a lone white cloud floating above the hill on which the Lovegoods lived.

As they all walked towards their Quidditch spot, brooms in hand (except for Hermione and Neville, of course, who weren't going to be playing), Ginny smiled at a chattering Luna.

Ron, who was walking with them, looked bewildered as Luna spoke about Humdingers. Ginny only grinned. She was used to listening about many of the creatures Luna spoke of. Some of them certainly didn't exist, and it sometimes got annoying when Luna trailed off after some imaginary creature in the middle of when they were talking. But that was alright with Ginny.

Ron, though, didn't seem to have the kind of patience Ginny possessed.

 _Mental,_ he mouthed to Ginny when Luna wasn't looking, before he excused himself and walked ahead to join Neville and Hermione.

"Ron doesn't like the Humdingers, does he?" said Luna dreamily. "He'll find them fascinating when he sees them dancing on a new moon night."

Ginny smiled again. For all that Luna had her brothers stupefied with her many beliefs in magical creatures, Ginny was happy to have the girl with them. Luna was her friend, one of her only friends; and she could quite put up to listening to tales of Snorcacks and Heliopaths and Humdingers.

It wasn't often that Luna spent time with Ginny's brothers. Well, it wasn't often that her brothers spent time with _Ginny_ to be honest, especially to play Quidditch. But Harry and Acquila's arrival, along with Bill and Charlie's long stay at home, had changed things to Ginny's advantage. Bill, who always indulged Ginny more than the rest of her brothers, had told the others to let her join them in Quidditch too! So the past few days had been some of the happiest of Ginny's life!

Earlier, her brothers always seemed to think less of her because she was younger than them. But Ginny had shown them that she could play as well as them! Even Charlie had said she played well! Maybe she could join the Gryffindor Quidditch team some day! Maybe after Angelina and Alicia and the others graduated? Ginny would get to be Chaser then! Play alongside Harry Potter! The mere thought of it made her feel warm and tingly.

"Harry is happy," remarked Luna suddenly, making Ginny watch him from the corner of her eye.

He _did_ look happy today, happier than he usually did when they played Quidditch. With a soft sigh, Ginny looked away, the sight of Harry's hand clasped in Acquila's making her feel bitterly envious.

 _That_ was why Harry looked happy today, of course – because Acquila had accompanied them today.

Ginny watched Acquila despite the envy simmering in her belly. Acquila was looking pretty todayin the new Muggle sundress that her cousin Tonks had bought for her – something Ginny could never dream of possessing given how expensive she was sure it was. She was smiling at something Harry said, her cheeks pink.

Harry was smiling, too. Ever so often, he would look at Acquila, his grin widening when she smiled, their hands clasped, whispering words Ginny couldn't hear – they seemed to be in a world of their own.

Just like that, Ginny's good mood vanished.

 _Why_ did Acquila have to come with them?

Playing Quidditch with Harry all these days, Ginny thought she had finally shaken off her shyness around the Boy Who Lived. She spoke to Harry a little, especially when they were on the same team, unlike how she'd never been able to speak to him when she was younger. Harry was friendly with her, too. He seemed to have put all the trouble she gave him with Tom's Diary in the past – something she was very thankful for seeing how he'd almost died saving her life.

Oh, Ginny knew he didn't fancy her like she fancied him. She knew all about his date with Daphne over Christmas; she'd seen him snogging Acquila in the corridor near the History of Magic classrom, and she'd heard how he'd mooned for that French Veela girl. And Ginny didn't think she could compete with any of the three girls, given how they were older and prettier than her. But she had thought that Harry had at least been noticing her, speaking to her, being friendly with her…

But now that Acquila was here, Harry seemed to have forgotten all about Ginny… He was just pleased that Acquila had agreed to come to watch them play Quidditch. She'd even agreed to play a couple of games because the twins had coaxed her to.

"Are you upset, Ginny?" asked Luna suddenly.

Ginny flushed, not wanting anyone to know what she was upset about. "No, I'm not." She said, not meeting Luna's eyes, when suddenly, she spotted someone flying on a broomstick a distance away, right over the spot where they played Quidditch every day.

"Hey, look!" she called out to the others, pointing. This was _their_ Quidditch spot – secluded, a place where no Muggles could spot them if they didn't fly too high; and Lord Black's Auror colleague had put wards on the place too, to keep away Muggles and Dark Magic, from what she had overheard Dad saying.

"Someone's already playing at our spot!" groaned Ron. "Let's go see!"

They all walked to the spot curiously – the twins leading them, Ron, Hermione and Neville following them, Luna and Ginny after them, and Harry and Acquila making up the tail.

It was a group of four boys, Ginny saw, all shouting and calling to the each other as the Quaffle passed quickly between them. They all looked rather familiar. It was only when a tall boy from the group noticed them and began descending to the ground that Ginny recognised the boys – they were from Hogwarts! And the tall boy walking towards them was Cedric Diggory, of course!

"Hey, Diggory," said Fred, not too politely.

Ginny was a little surprised at the hostility in his voice. The twins were never friends with Cedric despite how the Diggorys and the Lovegoods were the only magical families around the Burrow. That probably had something to do with the large family Ginny was part of. With them being seven siblings and Fred and George being twins, they had never felt the need for other friends to play with. So they'd never really been friends with Cedric Diggory though they were in the same school year and of the same ages. But that still didn't account for the hostility— _ah,_ it was because of the match, of course! The Hufflepuff-Gryffindor match that they lost because Cedric caught the Snitch when Harry plummeted to the ground from his now-mangled Firebolt! Merlin, how had she forgotten that? It was probably the surprise at seeing Cedric and his friends playing at their Quidditch spot.

"Hello, Fred, George," said Cedric politely, his friends descending from the broomsticks and joining him. That was John Stewart, if Ginny wasn't wrong, the Ravenclaw Prefect. She didn't know the other two boys, but she remembered seeing them with Cedric at Hogwarts.

"Hey," said George, a little unpleasantly.

"Fancy seeing you here," said Cedric.

"We're here to play Quidditch," said Ron curtly. "This is _our_ spot!"

Cedric shrugged, his gaze falling over Luna and Ginny. He smiled politely at them, making Ginny's tummy flutter. Merlin! Cedric was _so_ good-looking!

"Ah, my friends came over today—and my Dad said this would be a good spot to play," said Cedric. "Away from Muggle eyes if we don't fly too high… anyway, this was our last game. We were just leaving—" Cedric paused abruptly, his eyes widening in surprise before he flashed a wide grin. " _Acquila_! Hey, Harry!"

"Hi," said Harry, walking up to all of them with Acquila. He didn't look all that happy any more, Ginny noticed, though he did smile a little _too_ politely.

"Hi!" said Acquila, smiling a queer sort of half-smile. The two occasions Ginny had seen Acquila with Cedric, she had been all giggly and blushing. Now though, she seemed some sense of awkwardness there. Was it to do with the rumours of Cedric dating Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker? Although why Acquila would bother about Cedric when she had Harry wrapped around her finger was something Ginny couldn't understand.

Cedric, unlike Acquila, was his usual affable self. "I didn't expect to see you here, Acquila!" he exclaimed, smiling brightly, holding out his hand to her.

"I'm staying at Ron's until the World Cup final," said Acquila, pulling her hand back from Harry's and returning Cedric's handshake. "I didn't expect to see you here, too."

Acquila was smiling a little wider now, Ginny saw. Cedric's smile did seem to have that sort of an effect on girls, usually.

"You should've mentioned in your letter that you'd be coming to Ottery St. Catchpole," said Cedric. He was still smiling. "I live just around the hill there."

Acquila just smiled in response, though she seemed a little conflicted. "I wasn't sure we'd be coming to the Burrow," she said. "It took me a lot of time to convince Dad to let us come…"

"Oh, I understand," said Cedric. "Your father must be worried about both of you after the incident with Greyback."

Acquila wasn't smiling any more. She always got like that when someone mentioned Greyback.

It wasn't surprising. Ginny still shuddered whenever someone mentioned You Know Who or Tom Riddle, which wasn't even as often as people mentioned Greyback with how the dead werewolf had been in the news for weeks. But this – Acquila clamming up when the werewolf was mentioned was different, Ginny thought, because she knew Acquila was brave… she knew how brave she'd been in the Chamber of Secrets.

Everyone said Greyback had abducted Acquila, and then Harry and Malfoy had fought him off before Remus killed him. But Harry never seemed as frightened about Greyback as Acquila did. Ginny knew something had happened in the Forbidden Forest – something she thought Ron, Hermione and Neville knew about. She was curious about it, of course, but she could understand why Acquila would want to keep it secret, like Ginny wished she could keep everything that happened with Tom and his diary secret too.

"You're coming for the World Cup final, too, aren't you, Cedric?" asked Harry suddenly. He wasn't looking at Acquila, Ginny saw, they weren't even holding hands again. Harry just glanced at Acquila once – a comforting glance that seemed to return the colour back to Acquila's face, a glance that seemed to put a hundred words in it. It was so queer! Ginny wouldn't even have noticed it if she hadn't been watching the two of them for the past few days. But she had noticed these little things – how they'd complete each other's sentences, how they'd stare at each other like they were having wordless conversations, how they'd both sit in the garden in the evenings sometimes, watching the starry skies, their hands clasped, glancing suddenly at each other at the exact same moment – she'd noticed it all.

"Yes, I'm going for the World Cup final," said Cedric. He was still smiling. He didn't seem to have noticed Acquila's sudden uneasiness. "You're all coming too, Acquila told me. Well, I'll see you at the match, then."

"Sure." Harry smiled. "Bye, Cedric."

There was a chorus of byes.

"Come on, John, Alec," Cedric called to his friends. "Bye, Acquila. I'm still looking forward to your next letter… about all the places you visited in France."

"I'll write to you." Acquila smiled; she seemed back to normal now. "And thank you for the flowers again, Cedric. They are lovely."

"You're welcome." Cedric grinned that smile of his. "See you soon."

"Ah, finally!" said Ron, when the four boys were out of earshot. "I thought they'd never leave!"

"They were barely here for five minutes, Ron." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Harry! Ginny and you're in my team!" called Fred.

"That's not fair!" exclaimed George. "That leaves me with Ron and Acquila! I've never seen Acquila play, and Ron's broomstick is slower than those butterflies!"

"That's because Mum spent so much money on buying you both good brooms!" grumbled Ron, his ears red. "Ginny and I are left with Bill and Charlie's old brooms!"

"Oh, you don't really want to fly here, Ron," put in Luna dreamily. "Just look at the number of Diddlegums floating over the trees there! They might enter your ears and turn your vision all fuzzy."

Ron groaned, grumbling under his breath, but Ginny only looked at Acquila, who was smiling at something Hermione said.

Harry, though, was silently watching Acquila, his green eyes bearing a puzzle Ginny just couldn't unravel.

 **oOo**

It was finally here – the day Harry had been waiting for weeks. The final match of the Quidditch World Cup!

Oh, he had watched a Quidditch professional match live (Sirius had taken them for a Puddlemere league match a couple of years ago). But the Quidditch World Cup was something else altogether.

Harry had closely followed the World Cup on the live radio commentary (and how he wished the Wizarding world had television for the live telecast of sports like the Muggle world did). For all that how exciting the commentators on the radio made the play sound, watching a match live was an entirely different, more thrilling thing.

Almost as much as the match as a whole, Harry was looking forward to watching one particular player: Victor Krum. To hear him on radio and from the moving photographs in the newspapers, Krum seemed like a magician with the broom, weaving his way through the best of Beaters, surpassing the most famous of Seekers in getting to the Snitch in every match he had played in the World Cup yet.

Harry wasn't as crazy about Krum as Ron was; the red-head was on a completely different level of being a fan when it came to Krum. But Harry was quite in awe of the Bulgarian. Krum was just eighteen, still studying at Durmstrang; but he was already on his country's national team! Although Harry was pretty certain about wanting to be an Auror when he was older, hearing about Krum's exploits made him half want to follow in the Bulgarian's footsteps (though the thought of that much fame sobered him down enough to give up the thought almost as soon as he dreamt of it).

"It's going to be brilliant!" exclaimed Ron, rousing Harry from a fantasy of winning the Quidditch cup for England, as Acquila came running towards him, bright-eyed and grinning widely as she pulled him closer for a kiss.

"Yes, it is," Harry agreed as they all walked out of the Weasley tent towards the stadium, joining the large crowd of people already on their way to the gigantic stadium.

Harry was quiet as they walked, watching the myriad of tents rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards the dark wood on the horizon.

He glanced at Acquila, smiling as she laughed at something Luna said. These last few days at the Burrow had been nice; playing Quidditch, fooling around with the ghoul in the Burrow's attic, trying some of the twins' trick toffees. There were those few aberrations: Acquila's grumpiness over being unable to practice spells, and that encounter with Cedric (which Harry was secretly smug about seeing how news of Cho Chang dating Cedric had Acquila behave a little coolly with the Hufflepuff unlike her usual charming self).

"Harry! Ron! Neville!" Harry's musings were interrupted again by a waving, cheerful Seamus Finnigan, dressed completely in green, Dean Thomas by his side

"I knew we'd see you all here," said Dean, smiling as he shook hands with Harry and clapped Neville on his back.

"The match is going to be so wicked!" grinned Ron, launching into a detailed discussion about Ireland's semi-final match with a talkative Seamus.

Harry, meanwhile, glanced at the vast expanse of the field again, a little stunned at seeing just how large the wizarding population was; he was sure he'd never seen so many magical people gathered at a single place.

Most of the camps were grouped by the team the witches and wizards were supporting. The Irish supporters were spread out over the blindingly green hill to Harry's right, covered in Irish decorations. While the hill besides it was full of the Bulgarians, the tents covered in Bulgarian colours and very prominent posters of Viktor Krum.

The girls found the Bulgarian Seeker very grumpy-looking; but Ron glanced at the surly-faced Krum with an adoration bordering on reverence.

 _Who cares what he looks like,_ Ron would say, whenever Krum came up in conversations (which was pretty often lately), _he's unbelievable! He's a genius!_

 _Just make sure you don't end up marrying him or something,_ Hermione would retort, making everyone chuckle and Ron fume.

They walked with the huge mass of people trudging towards the stadium; and although Harry was more excited than he remembered being in a long time, he was overtly conscious of the DMLE officers who were walking in front of and behind Acquila and him, alert for any signs of trouble-making. Sometimes, with how much fun he had had at the Burrow in recent days, Harry almost forgot that the shadow of Voldemort still loomed large over them, as did the still-missing Barty Crouch Junior. For Acquila, though, there was no such forgetting; Voldemort and Crouch and the Horcruxes kept playing on her mind all the time, whether she was awake or asleep. But at least her nightmares of Greyback had almost ceased, which was a relief for Harry seeing how often he found himself subconsciously creeping into her dreaming mind.

Here and there in the excited crowd, Harry spotted a lot of Hogwarts students and waved to them as he caught their eye. There was Oliver Wood who had just left Hogwarts. He was gushing as he told them he'd been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team. Harry beamed, happy for Wood who'd always wanted to play Quidditch professionally.

They also bumped into Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff, who looked very displeased and annoyed at Ron boasting about occupying the best seats in the stadium (Sirius had managed to get them all brilliant seats in the top box, right next to the one that would host the dignitaries).

They met quite a few parents of his Hogwarts school mates, who came up to him to see _The Boy Who Lived_ in person. Harry did feel a bit awkward in those interactions but he didn't mind them; he'd had worse from Colin Creevey.

Harry also saw Cho Chang the Ravenclaw Seeker from afar. Cedric Diggory wasn't with her, though. They came across him a little further, his father Amos with him. Cedric was his usual jovial self, quick to greet everyone, all grins and cheer. He did go on to ask Acquila if she would like to go for a walk with him after the match, saying he wanted to speak to her. Harry watched Acquila keenly, a little glad when she coolly told Cedric she'd be celebrating with the Weasleys post-match.

"I'll be right there in my tent, in case you change your mind," said Cedric, not one to give up, before he walked forward with his father, stopping to shake Harry's hand.

But even Cedric Diggory couldn't dampen Harry's spirits as they joined the long queue leading to the the stands, the stadium echoing with the cheering of thousands of spectators.

"Look at the queue, mate," Ron groaned, worried. "How will we ever reach in time? If the match begins, Krum will catch the Snitch in no time and we'll miss watching him!"

"Come on, Ron," said Neville, "There's still quite some time for the match to start."

"Aha! The man of the moment! Ludo!" exclaimed Mr Weasley, making Harry turn towards the man who was striding towards them. Harry recognised him from the papers – Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Sports in the Ministry. Mr Weasly greeted Bagman, who, in his multi-coloured robes straining against his huge belly, coupled with how he strangely looked like an overgrown child, was the most noticeable person that Harry had ever seen, which was saying something considering the number of bedecked and extravagantly-dressed witches and wizards they'd seen yet.

Mr Wealsey introduced them all to him, and Bagman did a double take when Harry and Acquila were mentioned. He stared at Harry a bit longer just like everyone always did.

"I just met Lord Black!" exclaimed Bagman, shaking Harry's hand none too gently. "He was oh so pleased to see me. He was a big fan during my playing days, he tells me!" Bagman seemed to puff up with pride; although Harry couldn't quite remember Sirius ever mentioning Ludo Bagman's Quidditch days.

"Lord Black—er, _Sirius_ is on Minister Fudge's security team today, eh? I daresay even a fly won't sting the Minister under Sirius' watch!" Bagman chortled and slapped Harry on the arm.

Harry just smiled in reply, as did Acquila.

Ludo Bagman went back to Mr Weasley. "Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he asked eagerly, jingling what seemed be a large amount of gold in his pockets. "I've already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first – I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years – and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a weeklong match."

"Oh...go on then," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's see...a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

"A Galleon?" Ludo Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself. "Very well, very well...any other takers?" Bagman winked at Harry, who didn't have the slightest interest on betting. The wizard looked to the Weasley twins, who were whispering furiously in the corner, rifling through their pockets.

"They're a bit young to be gambling," said Mr. Weasley. "Molly wouldn't like—"

"We'll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," said Fred as he and George quickly pooled all their money, "that Ireland wins – but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that," Percy hissed, but Bagman didn't seem to think the wand was rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the wand gave a loud squawk and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

Percy froze in an attitude of stunned disapproval. Harry and the others snickered.

"Boys," said Mr. Weasley under his breath, "I don't want you betting...That's all your savings...Your mother—"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" boomed Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance...I'll give you excellent odds on that one...We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we..."

Mr Weasley looked on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whipped out a notebook and quill and began jotting down the twins' names.

"Cheers," said George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman handed him and tucking it away into the front of his robes. Bagman turned most cheerfully back to Mr Weasley.

"Ludo! Where have you been?" exclaimed a woman, who came towards them suddenly.

Bagman nodded at her. "Good Evening, Bertha!" he said cheerfully. "Didn't I tell you go escort the Bulgarian cabinet members to the top box?"

"Oh—oh, oh yes, you did, Ludo," said Bertha Jonkins, seeming a little flustered as she rushed off.

When she was gone, Bagman whispered. "Poor old Bertha... She has a memory like the Leaky Cauldron and absolutely no sense of direction. You know once she—"

"Sorry to interrupt you, Ludo," cut in Mr Weasley, "but we better get into the queue or we will never enter the stadium."

"Of course... of course... we'll continue this story another time. It's pretty hilarious, I tell you, it'll have you in splits, Arthur!" Bagman chuckled aloud as he shook their hands again, and walked off eagerly – no doubt to take more bets.

As they waited in line, salesmen kept apparating all around them, selling goods and merchandise. They all bought green rosettes and omnioculars.

"I've been saving my pocket money all these days to buy this!" Ron exclaimed, as he bought a small figure of Viktor Krum that walked around on his palm and growled.

Suddenly, one of the DMLE officers with them walked forward and had a word with the guard watching over the queue. Much to Harry's surprise and Ron and the twins' joy, within no time they were all led up to the Top Box and shown their seats.

"Being famous and having Sirius for a godfather is cool, huh," muttered Ron, while Harry felt a little embarrassed about jumping the queue when so many others had to wait patiently in line.

"This is wicked!" exclaimed Fred and George together, as they all took their seats. Their box was the highest spot in the stadium and it was situated exactly halfway between the golden goalposts. The view was spectacular.

Slowly, the Top Box started filling up. Harry recognised quite a few of the witches and wizards – from Amelia Bones, who had come with Susan, to Nathan Rosier and his wife.

The Malfoys came too – Draco and Lucius. All the wizards and witches in the Top Box warily stared at Draco as if he would bite them even if they twitched. Harry noticed that Draco seemed almost uncaring of the stares and whispers.

Draco grinned on spotting Acquila, his smile only widening when she hugged him. He nodded curtly at Harry, and ignored the others (except for Luna, whom Draco gawked at because she was trying to grasp at some invisible magical creature in the air).

Lucius Malfoy only stared grimly at the Quidditch goal posts, saying nothing.

"Blaise isn't coming today. He's gone to Italy with his mother. The Greengrasses aren't coming too," said Draco to Acquila, casting an almost envious glance when he saw just what a large group they were – the seven Weasley siblings, Mr Weasley, Neville, Luna, and Acquila and Harry, of course. "Will you come visit me after the match? My tent's right in the middle of the hill—you'll notice it easily, it's got the Malfoy crest on top of it," he added a little haughtily.

Acquila smiled softly at her cousin. Harry could sense her thoughts – how she knew of Draco's loneliness without his friends who were still slow to accept him with the exception of Astoria and Zabini. "I'll come to meet you, I promise," she told him, before the father-son duo went their way.

"Look, it eez 'Arry!" A sweet, familiar voice startled Harry when he was in the middle of checking out the Krum figurine.

It was Fleur Delacour, with Gabrielle and their father. Harry belatedly remembered that Sirius had promised the Delacours he'd arrange tickets for them.

"H—hey," said Harry, blushing, a little embarrassed at how his voice cracked at the _hey._

Fleur, dressed in flowing green robes, her blonde hair done up in a chignon, kissed Harry on both his cheeks, exclaiming about how _handsome_ he looked and how the green shirt he'd worn brought out the colour of his eyes.

Harry could feel it again – that floaty feeling, like nothing and no one except Fleur mattered. But this time, he was able to master himself better, partly out of imagining just how much the Weasley brothers would chortle on seeing him drooling over the French part-Veela. Acquila had already told them a little too much about his behaviour with Fleur in France.

However, he needn't have worried about the Weasleys snickering at him, for most of them seemed as enchanted by Fleur as Harry had been. As Gabrielle too kissed Harry and Acquila on their cheeks, Harry spotted Ron gaping shamelessly at Fleur, his mouth open, his green rosette slipping out his hands as his eyes got unnaturally wide, until Hermione brusquely shut his jaw and grumbled about foolish boys, while Harry, Acquila and Neville tried and failed to contain their laughter. Fred and George, and even _Percy_ were watching Fleur, unblinking. Even Bill didn't seem immune to Fleur's Veela charm, as he stared at her – not as obviously as Ron was, but a little subtly.

For all that he was happy to meet the Delacours, Harry couldn't deny being a little relieved when they left for their own seats. He doubted he could take any more of a star-struck Ron.

Cornelius Fudge and his security team (including Sirius) were the last to arrive in the box, just before the match started. They took their seats next to the Bulgarian Minister, a little away from where Harry was sitting.

Sirius didn't take any seat. He was part of Fudge's security detail and needed to be alert at all times. He was continuously walking in and out of the Box trying to keep everything and everyone in place throughout the match.

Percy, unusually excited, went over to greet Fudge, and bowed so low his glasses fell off and shattered. As he sat back embarrassed and repaired his glasses, Percy stared jealously at Harry and Acquila when Fudge greeted them like they were family.

At last, when Harry couldn't contain his excitement any more, after Ludo Bagman had bellowed aloud on the mic, the hundred thousand-strong crowd cheering wildly, after the Bulgarian mascots, the Veelas, had annoyed Acquila, Hermione and Ginny, and enchanted all the boys and men who didn't want the beautiful creatures to stop dancing, after the leprechauns had showered gold coins into all the stands, after the both the finalist teams were introduced, the crowd going crazy when Krum zoomed onto the stadium, after the referee whistled to signal the beginning of the game, the match _finally_ commenced.

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before, not even in the Quidditch League match he had watched.

He was pressing his Omnioculars so hard to his glasses that they were cutting into the bridge of his nose.

The speed of the players was incredible – the Chasers were throwing the Quaffle to one another so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names. Harry spun the slow dial on the right of his Omnioculars again, pressed the play-by-play button on the top; he watched the passes in slow motion, while glittering purple lettering flashed across the lenses and the noise of the crowd pounded against his eardrums.

As the match went on, the Irish Team scored twice as much as the Bulgarian Team. The Irish Chasers were so brilliant that Harry half wondered whether they could read each other's minds.

"Look!" said Acquila suddenly, clasping Harry's hand. The entire stadium gasped as one as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the centre of the Chasers, so fast that it looked as though they had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes.

Harry followed their descent through his Omnioculars again, squinting to see where the Snitch was, dimly aware that he was simultaneously watching the Seekers plummeting without using his Omniculars –that was Acquila, he realised suddenly! She was watching the match without her Omniculars, it was what she was seeing with her own eyes that was flitting in and out of his own vision.

He pulled his own Omniculars away, glancing quickly at her, stunned and strangely exhilarated at the same time. Is this how she had felt, when Harry had been flying on his Firebolt and she had almost tripped down the staircase as she felt herself flying and staring at the sun setting down the mountains that loomed in the distance?

But he saw now that Acquila hadn't even noticed what had happened; she was cheering aloud as she watched the two Seekers. "They're going to crash!" Acquila screamed suddenly, and Harry hurriedly looked back at the plummeting Seekers.

Acquila was right. They were going to crash. But astoundingly, at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiraled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

"Fool!" moaned Mr Weasley. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" yelled Bagman, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie said reassuringly to Ginny, who was hanging over the side of the box, looking horror-struck, "Which is what Krum was after, of course..."

"They need to give him powdered Girtleneck droppings. He will be back to normal instantly," said Luna, looking unfazed.

The twins chuckled, Ron grimaced, but Luna only stared absently at the stadium, humming to herself.

Harry met Acquila's eyes, grinning at her, before he hastily pressed the replay and play-by-play buttons on his Omnioculars, twiddled the speed dial, and put them back up to his eyes to watch Krum's brilliant feint again. He had already learnt so much from this match.

Krum was now using the time out to look for the Snitch without any kind of obstruction. The game resumed as the Irish seeker got onto his feet again and the crowd cheered. After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

There was foul after foul as the game progressed. At one point an Irish Beater hit the Bludger towards Krum and he didn't duck away in time and it hit him square in the face. Krum's nose seemed broken and there was blood everywhere but the referee didn't notice him at all. Harry couldn't blame him either; he was distracted by the fire that had lit at the tail end of his broom after the Veelas started throwing fire at the leprechauns. The Veelas didn't look pretty when they were angry. There seemed to have been some teasing involved, which was started by the leprechauns.

Amidst this chaos, the Irish Seeker had _suddenly_ gone into a dive, and Harry was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing.

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouted. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, cheering their Seeker on...but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again –

"They're going to crash!" shrieked Acquila.

"Oh! I can't watch!" Hermione said watching from the gap between her fingers.

"They're not!" roared Ron.

"Lynch is!" yelled Harry.

And he was right – for the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

"The Snitch, where's the Snitch?" bellowed Charlie, along the row.

"He's got it – Krum's got it – it's all over!" shouted Harry.

And so it was. Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand.

The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn't seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight.

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WINS – Merlin, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellowed, even as he jumped up and down, applauding with his hands over his head. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouted back over all the noise, also applauding loudly. "The Irish Chasers were too good...He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all..."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione said, leaning forward to watch Krum land as a swarm of mediwizards blasted a path through the battling leprechauns and veela to get to him. "He looks a terrible mess... But he was so brave."

"He was," agreed Harry, already imagining himself doing the Wronski Feint and grabbing the Snitch from right under Cedric Diggory's nose in the months to come.

"This was such a brilliant match!" exclaimed Acquila.

"It was," he agreed, grinning as she hugged him, cheering loudly for Ireland.

 **oOo**

Sirius yawned softly as he walked towards the Weasleys' tent, already looking forward to the moment he'd collapse into his bed at Grimmauld Place and fall into a much-needed sleep. The last few days had been extremely hectic for him: hours of managing the security details of the World Cup with his fellow Aurors and the DMLE officers. Now that Fudge knew of Voldemort's existence, the man had been petrified about the Dark wizard attacking the World Cup matches. After quite some haggling with a reluctant Scrimgeour( who, not knowing of Voldemort, thought Fudge was being unnecessarily paranoid), Fudge had put his foot down, invoked his powers as a Minister, ranted about how the missing Crouch Junior was still a danger especially when an event like the World Cup was being hosted, and cajoled the Head Auror into having the Auror Department share charge of the security with the DMLE.

Thanks to Fudge, and to Scrimgeour (who'd assigned him to Fudge's personal security team), Sirius hadn't even been able to watch much of the match, adding to his grumpiness. He'd caught barely a handful of hours of sleep in the past week

Harry, though, Sirius noticed as he greeted everyone in the Weasley's tent, was in especially high spirits, his face flushed with laughter at something Fred said, while Charlie Weasley seemed high on more than just the joy of triumph. Acquila sat in a corner of the tent with Hermione, Ginny and the Lovegood girl, giggling over something, while Arthur and the older boys were gorging on Mopsy's scones at the table.

"Harry?" Sirius called to the boy, who looked a little disgruntled at being interrupted in his Exploding Snap game. Acquila raised an enquiring eyebrow, but said nothing as Sirius led Harry to their own tent a few metres away.

It was magnificent, the two-storeyed tent Mopsy and Kreacher had set up for Sirius and the children – with a vast kitchen and dining area where the whole group sans Sirius had earlier supped on Mospy's delicious cooking, three separate rooms for Harry, Acquila and him, and even a little study on the upper storey. The Black crest beamed proudly from the top of the tent, though Sirius wished he could just vanish it off seeing the constant attention it garnered even from drunk revellers passing by. It was a pity they'd barely use the tent tonight, though. Sirius would go back to doing his part in the security detail, Acquila would no doubt share the girls' tent with Hermione, the Lovegood girl and Ginny, while Harry would go celebrate with the Weasley boys.

Sirius half-wished he could have the children ensconced safely at Grimmauld Place. The match was over, and they didn't need to spend the night here. But the children wouldn't like that, he knew. They seemed to have enjoyed their time at the Burrow with the Weasleys. They wouldn't want to leave early while their friends celebrated together.

But it would put his mind at ease having them back home.

Oh, he knew they would be safe here. Kingsley had personally looked into warding the area where their tents were set up. But there was always that slight fear at the back of his mind whenever the kids were in a crowded place like this.

"So, why'd you bring me here?" asked Harry, grabbing at one of the scones Mopsy had kept for the children. "I was finally about to beat George at Exploding Snap—"

"If you'd rather play Snap than meet Victor Krum, you can go right back into the Weasley's tent," said Sirius with a grin.

"Wait, _what_!" exclaimed Harry, eyes wide. "Meet Victor Krum?"

"Yes." Sirius chuckled at the look of wonder on Harry's face.

It wasn't often that the boy got so genuinely excited for something. Harry took joy in the smallest of things, never demanding anything, never being a spoilt child like Sirius and his cousins had been when they were younger, when they'd had all of their whims and fancies attended to by the vast Black fortune. That only made Sirius smile wider at the awed look on Harry's face.

"I can meet _Victor Krum_? Really?" asked Harry, green eyes so very reminiscent of Lily's as they shone with eagerness.

"Yes, we're meeting Victor Krum," Sirius chuckled again. "There's this Bulgarian Quidditch official I know; I've arranged it all with him. I doubt you'll get too long to talk to Krum, but he's agreed to have you meet him—"

"Can we take Ron along, too?" asked Harry, making Sirius smile at how the boy always thought of his friends too. "He _loves_ Krum, and he'll be mighty mad at me if I go and he can't."

"We can't take Ron, kiddo, I'm sorry." Sirius sighed. It had already been _quite_ a task to arrange for Krum to meet Harry, that too because he'd pulled the Lord Black and the Boy Who Lived card.

Anyway, Ron and his siblings would all meet Krum soon. Sirius had heard on the Ministry grapevine that Victor Krum was going to be part of the Durmstrang group who would visit Hogwarts for a chance at being the Triwizard champion. So Ron would surely meet Krum at Hogwarts in a few months.

Also, (though it felt rather petty for a grown-up man to think so), Sirius wanted this to be something he had done for Harry alone, something between just the two of them.

He remembered Uncle Alphard and the dozens of matches he'd taken Sirius along to watch. Uncle Alphard, who owned some stake in a couple of the Quidditch league teams, often had Sirius meet some of the players after the games, especially the Beaters whom he'd looked up to, being Beater for Gryffindor himself. It was something Sirius cherished, something he'd always remember, something that had forged a bond between his favourite Uncle and him – something he wanted for Harry and himself, too.

Sirius had never been there for Harry's childhood, nor had he got time enough to take Harry to watch Quidditch league matches often. But this was something he could do – have Harry meet the Seeker he really admired.

There was a knock at the door of the tent, rousing Sirius from memories of Uncle Alphard.

"Come in," said Harry cheerfully.

It was Acquila, of course. "Krum! You're meeting Victor Krum!" she exclaimed, grinning at Harry, who beamed back at her.

She didn't even seem to have realised that she knew about Krum through the Soul Bond – or perhaps, she was deliberately ignoring that fact. Well, Sirius wasn't really in the mood to dwell on the Bond and the relationship between the children now – that was a headache better left for another day.

"Do you want to come too, sweetheart?" Sirius asked her, already knowing she'd say no.

"Not really. You know I'm not so much into Quidditch, Dad," she said.

Well, she was right. Sirius would quite have liked it if his daughter was a Beater like he'd been in his playing days. But he didn't mind her lack of passion for the game. Harry's love for Quidditch quite made up for it.

"—and if you take me along, then Ron will be mad at being left out, so will Fred and George and Ginny—and then you'll have to take _all_ of us. And I don't think Victor Krum's going to like that much. He seems a surly sort of a fellow," finished Acquila.

"He's the best Seeker ever!" exclaimed Harry, as if that made up for Krum's surliness.

"He can tell you all about the Wronski Feint," agreed Acquila. "I know you didn't quite get it when Oliver tried to teach you last year."

Harry smiled, already giddy with excitement. "Are we going right now?" he asked Sirius.

"Yes, we are," Sirius told him. "Harry and I will be back soon, love," he said to Acquila. "You stay here with the Weasleys, alright?"

"Dad, can I go meet Draco?" Acquila asked him. "I promised I'll meet him after the match. None of his friends have come, and he must be all alone with only his father for company."

Sirius glanced at his watch; there wasn't really time enough for him to drop Acquila to the Malfoy camp, and then take Harry all the way to the Bulgarian team camp. The DMLE folk assigned to protect Acquila had already departed once she was safe within Kingsley's wards on the Weasley and Black tents. He didn't really want to contact them and tell them to tail Acquila while she spent time with Draco Malfoy; the DMLE was already busy with handling the group of drunk celebrators who had set a camp afire with their misfiring fireworks. Additionally, he didn't quite want Acquila to go anywhere near Lucius Malfoy, even for Draco's sake.

"No," he said shortly. "I'll be late for Krum if I drop you to the Malfoys, and I really don't want you there when Lucius is around. And I can't call the DMLE or an Auror to go with you at such a short notice. You can meet Draco tomorrow or something; I'll drop you to Malfoy Manor; Cissy will be there too."

"But I _promised_ Draco!" persisted Acquila. "I told him I'll meet him. He must be waiting for me."

"Come on, love," he said. "It's not a big deal. Just send him a note saying you can't come."

"Dad—" she began, annoyed.

But Sirius glanced again at his watch, a little impatient. "I'll drop Harry back here back soon, alright? And I'll see you directly at home in the morning. I've to go back to securing Fudge once we're done with Krum. Bye, sweetheart." With a kiss on Acquila's frowning brow, Sirius set off with Harry, finding himself in the Bulgarian Seeker's tent three quarters of an hour later.

"Yes, the Wronski Feint!" Harry's excited voice carried over to the chair Sirius was sitting in, making the Animagus smile as he watched his godson. The boy eyes were shining with awe, a huge grin on his face, his hands waving animatedly as he said something to Victor Krum.

Krum, for his part, didn't seem as sullen as he'd looked in the stadium. His large, curved nose was now covered in a thick bandage thanks to the hit he'd taken during the match. Dark and sallow-skinned, bushy eye-browed, with distinctly rounded shoulders, it was a little tough to believe that this duck-footed eighteen year-old, who looked so uncoordinated up close, was the same player who had almost single-handedly carried Bulgaria into the finals.

Sirius leaned back into his chair, watching Harry chuckle delightedly at something. The boy looked overwhelmed and full of wonder at finding himself talking to Victor Krum – something that amused Sirius. Usually other people were awed whenever they were around the Boy Who Lived, while Harry shied away from the attention. Today, it was Harry who was behaving like an over-excited fan, while Krum was the celebrity.

The Bulgarian had seemed a little embarrassed and grumpy in the beginning. Now, though, Krum seemed to be getting along well with Harry, his deep, accented voice drifting towards Sirius almost as often as Harry's did.

Sirius leant further into his chair, wishing it was a more comfortable one. He had half an eye on the people in the Bulgarian camp. He'd caught sight of a couple of Bulgarian players when he entered in, and seen the swarm of raucous fans gathered outside for a glimpse of Krum. Compared to the loud group calling out loudly for Krum since Sirius had come in, no wonder the Bulgarian was getting on pretty well with Harry, who was quieter, better behaved, and knew a thing or two about how it felt to be badgered by star-struck fans.

Sirius watched Krum finally shake hands with Harry, who still looked awed, before the Bulgarian walked away; and Harry almost hopped towards Sirius, beaming widely.

"Look! He autographed the Snitch I bought earlier!" exclaimed Harry. "He said he only agreed to meet me because he'd heard about me—Boy Who Lived and everything… but then I asked him about the Wronski Feint, and he got all chatty!"

"That's great, kiddo." Sirius smiled. It was so rare seeing Harry so animated, so unbridled in his joy.

"I told him I was Seeker for Gryffindor!" gushed Harry, as they both walked out of the Bulgarian camp, the cool night wind further messing up Harry's hair, "And he told me about that move he used in the match against Australia—he said I could—"

"Wait—" Sirius cut Harry off, suddenly wary. Someone was shouting in the distance, a bit farther away from the Bulgarian team's camp.

"What's the matter—oh, did you hear that?" exclaimed Harry, bewildered.

It was unmistakable now – the panicked shouts of a horde of people, screams, and the tell-tale sign of the cause of it all: the shimmering green skull blazing in the night sky, a sign that sent shivers down the spine of the bravest of people back during the War – _the Dark Mark_.

Sirius stood stunned, his heart racing in sudden panic as he gaped at the Dark Mark. This couldn't be happening! The Dark Mark couldn't be— _Merlin,_ someone was already dead, then! The place was under attack! There were so many important people around, foreign spectators, dignitaries, the Bulgarian ministers— _fuck!_

"Sirius—look!" gasped Harry suddenly, pointing at the sky. His expression was a mixture of disbelief and shock and fear. "It's the Dark Mark—"

"Come 'ere," Sirius cut the boy off, putting an arm around his shoulder and tugging him close to him, his wand out, ready to defend Harry if need be.

Damn! How had their defences been breached? This couldn't be happening! Everything was in place tonight, heightened security measures, heavy Auror presence. This bloody couldn't be happening!

But it _had_!

It had happened! Voldemort had attacked them!

The burning skull gazed at Sirius with its hollow eyes, the menacing serpent dangling from its mouth!

Damn. He needed to get Harry out of there.

But he needed to gather his thoughts, think calmly. Voldemort _couldn't_ have got past their wards even in his wraith-like form; nor could Crouch Junior, who was on the most-wanted list of the Auror Department for months now. This was some smaller fish, then – some former Death Eater up to prove a point, _killing_ someone for it. The Mark was never cast unless someone was killed! _Damn_ it!

He couldn't risk Harry's safety, nor Acquila's. He needed to get them back to Grimmauld Place.

"Sirius! Who did this—how—what's happening—" stuttered Harry, his own wand ready for battle.

Suddenly, there was pandemonium all around; shouts and screams, a mini-stampede farther away from the noises he could hear. Harry couldn't be here. Sirius waved his wand lightly, only to groan. There were anti-Disapparition wards in place. The Bulgarian Ministry had insisted on securing their players' camp. The wards were no doubt put in to keep away over-eager fans.

"Run—come on, quickly!" growled Sirius, dragging Harry along with him, his spell already alerting Kingsley to their exact location. He looked around, whispering incantations under his breath, casting a Notice Me Not charm over the both of them, as the fleeing Bulgarian Quidditch coach almost ran into them. It looked like even the Bulgarians knew what the Dark Mark meant.

"We're getting out of the wards, and then I'm Disapparating you home!" he told Harry. "Come on! Faster!"

"I'm not going home! Acquila's with the Weasleys!" cried Harry, stumbling as he tried to keep pace with Sirius' longer strides. "We have to get to her—and Hermione, Ron and the others! You said the Dark Mark used to be put up only when someone was killed! Voldemort could have—"

"Shut up!" barked Sirius. "Don't take his name—don't say anything now—let's just get out of here!"

Harry looked stunned, then chastised at Sirius' unusual brusqueness, before he speeded up his pace, running alongside him, Sirius holding his suddenly cold hand firmly in his own.

Merlin, he was supposed to be with the Minister! Fudge had insisted Sirius be put in charge of his security— _fuck!_ He had to do his bit for securing the safety of the people around, too. Thank Merlin Kingsley had insisted that there should be absolutely no Muggles around, not even Mr Roberts and his family, or the situation would have got worse.

"Wait—" Harry stopped suddenly, making Sirius come to an abrupt stop, too.

"Come on, Prongslet—I need to get you out of here—" growled Sirius.

"No—something's wrong—Acquila—she's—she's running away—I don't know—something's wrong—" said Harry.

A sudden bout of fear gripped Sirius' heart now. But he couldn't let that get to him now, he didn't dare dwell on Acquila being in danger yet again.

"Run, run, quickly!" Sirius half-dragged a protesting Harry with him, heaving a sigh of relief when he felt the Anti-Disapparition wards ceasing behind them.

"Hold on to me, quick!" Sirius grabbed Harry's shoulders, and with a deep intake of breath, they disappeared into the night sky, arriving almost immediately into the tent Mospy had set up for them.

"Stay close," Sirius told a disoriented Harry, his wand at the ready again.

"Harry!" came a voice from up the stairs, startling Sirius, while Harry had his wand pointed at the owner of the voice. He lowered it when they saw that it was Bill Weasley. "Where were you—is Acquila with you?"

"No, no, she's not," said Sirius, "She was here—she went back to your tent—"

"No, she's not here!" exclaimed Bill. "We've been looking for her. Hermione thinks she snuck out to meet Draco Malfoy. Dad's alerted Tonks… she said she's going to the Malfoy camp with a fellow trainee—"

"Fuck!" Sirius swore aloud. Acquila _had_ to go and meet Malfoy, didn't she? Why couldn't she ever listen to him?

"I'll go tell the others you're here," said Bill, rushing away.

Sirius breathed in deeply for a moment, panicked. He knew Nott's tent was set up right next to Malfoy's, as was Yaxley's. He knew they wouldn't dare hurt Acquila, not when they knew it would get them into trouble with Sirius. But if Voldemort had contacted any of them… getting their hands on Sirius Black's daughter would be a glorious way to prove their loyalty to their master.

"Accio," he muttered, summoning an empty goblet towards him, and muttering a charm under his breath as the silver glowed blue. "Take this, it'll take you home." He thrust the goblet into Harry's hands. But the boy backed away.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Harry exclaimed stubbornly. "We need to find Acquila! I—I can't feel her!" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, shutting his eyes, no doubt trying to reach Acquila. "She isn't—she isn't letting me in—or maybe I can't reach her—but what if, what if something happens, like last time? With Greyback and Voldemort and Crouch?" Harry's eyes were wide; for all that Harry was fourteen now, for all the times he'd been so brave in the face of danger, the boy suddenly looked afraid and vulnerable.

"Nothing's going to happen to her, alright?" Sirius told him, willing himself to be calm. "But I need _you_ safe, back home, Harry. I can't have you here with the bloody Dark Mark shining in the sky—"

"No!" exclaimed Harry again. "I'm going nowhere till we find Acquila!"

Sirius stared at the boy, his fear making him want to yell at him. He couldn't handle this now, Harry's unusual mulishness. Acquila could be anywhere, in a fucking Death Eater's clutches, with the Dark Mark in the sky—and the bloody Auror emblem on his watch was burning hot against his wrist – Scrimgeour was calling for him! He had a duty – he was put in charge of protecting Fudge.

But Acquila—she was out there somewhere! She could be in danger! Alone, and afraid—even Harry wasn't with her this time. And the last time something like this had happened, things hadn't gone well for her, with Greyback and Crouch— _damn!_

"I can help! You know I can—I can try reaching out to her, you know I can! I'm not going home without her!" said Harry, green eyes beseeching now.

Sirius sighed deeply, unmoved. There was no way Harry could remain here. "Come on," he muttered, taking the boy with him.

There was chaos outside, far more than there had been in the Bulgarian camp.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, hair bushier than usual, rushing towards the boy and pulling him into a hug. "Harry, I'm so sorry! I didn't know she'd go, or I'd have stopped her!"

Ron was pale-faced. "They're saying someone was killed—is it true? Is this to do with Death Eaters?"

Sirius didn't have the time to deal with that now. "Stay here with Bill, get into your tent and stay together. Bill, as soon as Arthur's back, tell him to have you all Portkeyed to the Burrow, even you Neville."

"What about Acquila?" began the Lovegood girl, strangely, still looking her usual dreamy self.

"Harry and I will look for her," said Sirius, impatient, as he led Harry away from the worried group, Bill ushering them all into the tent.

"Can you sense where she is, kiddo? Is she scared? Is she hurt?" Sirius asked Harry as they walked quickly in the direction of the Malfoy camps, realising he had gripped the boy's shoulder too hard only when Harry winced.

"No, no, I can't. She's not hurt… I don't think so—but, but I can't sense her," said Harry.

"We'll find her," said Sirius, determined. Surreptitiously, he took off the ring he wore on his finger, the one with the Black crest on it. Wordlessly tapping it with his wand, he called to Harry.

"Catch this," he said.

Harry, with the quick reflexes of a Seeker, instinctively caught the ring, frowning when he noticed the Sticking Charm ensured it got stuck to his palm.

 _One, two, three,_ chanted Sirius mentally.

"What—" exclaimed Harry in surprise, followed by a flash of bewilderment, as the ring turned blue and the boy disappeared safely towards Grimmauld Place, while Sirius set out to find his daughter.

 **oOo**

Startled, stunned, furious – Harry didn't quite know what he felt when he his feet landed harshly on the rug in Sirius' study in Grimmauld Place, his knees buckling under the force as he stumbled. He stood up on shaky feet.

He muttered a spell under his breath, watching Sirius' ring unstick from his palm, and then tossed it onto the table, unusually furious with his godfather.

He needed to be there, at the Quidditch stadium! He needed to find Acquila! He needed to see her safe, with him, never letting her go!

He needed to get out of Grimmauld Place, back to Sirius, back to Acquila.

He was panicking, he knew, his breaths uneven, his palms clammy as he clutched his wand tighter. He didn't know how long he stood there, panicking, his mind blank, until finally he gathered his thoughts.

He needed to get out of here, immediately. But how? Sirius hadn't taught him Disapparition yet. And he didn't know how to create a Portkey. He wanted Acquila, he _needed_ Acquila! He could still visualise the Dark Mark, a shimmering green in the dark sky, the skull staring down at him through empty eyes.

"Ouch!" Harry winced, clapping his hand to his forehead, where his scar seemed to burn for a fleeting moment.

But that didn't matter now. What mattered was finding Acquila.

He shut his eyes, trying to calm his racing heartbeats, trying to even his breathing, trying to reach out to her. But he could sense nothing, his own panic and fear so overpowering that even if he were feeling Acquila's emotions, he doubted he could have distinguished them from his own. But she couldn't be in serious danger, could she? Or he would have known, like he'd always done.

He looked around in desperation now, half wondering if maybe he could take some Muggle transport to go to the stadium—damn, he bloody didn't even know where it exactly was. He needed something magical… like a bloody Portkey or… or something like—oh, yes!

"Mopsy!" he called loudly.

The female elf appeared before him immediately, with a soft _crack_ that shattered the hitherto silence of the night.

"Mopsy, take me to the Black tent," he ordered her. She couldn't deny following his orders, could she? Kreacher probably would have; he sometimes still took pleasure in undermining Harry. But Mopsy was a loyal elf, always ready to do whatever her _little master_ asked her to.

Her big eyes grew bigger when Mopsy heard him. But she only bowed low, long ears sweeping the floor. "Mopsy will do as little master says," she said, holding out her little hand to him.

"Wait here—I'll be back," he said to her, and then fled up the stairs to his room. He was back within a minute, the Invisibility Cloak in his arms. He flung it over himself, ensuring it covered every bit of him. Holding his wand securely in his right hand, he clasped Mopsy's waiting hand with his left one.

"Come on. Take me there, and you come back here to Grimmauld Place," he told Mopsy, who went still for a moment, eyes widening again.

But she snapped her fingers, and Harry felt himself hurtling into nothingness, until his feet touched a rug-covered floor harshly for the second time that night.

"Thank you, Mopsy—" he began, but the elf's hand already slipped from his grasp. Mopsy, obedient as ever, disapparated back to Grimmauld Place as he had told her to.

The elf had brought him to his own room in the huge tent, he realised as he looked around, making sure there was no one in the tent. Walking out to the entrance of the tent and then past it, Cloak still around him, Harry held his wand securely, ready to cast any spell if need be.

There seemed to be no one outside; there was silence around him, though he could still hear sounds of chaos in the distance. The Weasleys were all probably still in their own tent, with Neville and Luna and Hermione, or perhaps Arthur had already managed to take them all to the Burrow. Harry wasn't going to go there to check. He knew that if Hermione, Ron and Neville knew he was going to follow Sirius into the Malfoy camp, they would all want to come with him. And he couldn't risk putting them in danger; not when someone had already been killed at Voldemort's bidding tonight, without which the Dark Mark wouldn't have been cast.

Trying not to look at the Weasley's tent (for he half-wished he had his friends with him), he walked in the direction of the Malfoy tents.

Glancing around, he saw no one except some solitary wizards running around in the distance. Things seemed to have calmed down a little, at least in this part of the vast grounds; the DMLE and Auror teams had probably already put the evacuation plan into action – Harry had overheard Sirius discussing it one time when Irene in the fireplace.

He picked up pace, almost running now, hoping his feet weren't exposed as the Cloak flapped around them. Belatedly noticing the sound his running was making, Harry muttered a charm under his breath, knowing his Underage Magic wouldn't really register with how full of magical humans the area was, glad that Sirius and Remus had taught him their nifty Marauder spell that would supress the sound of his feet.

The closer he got to the Death Eater camp, the more people he saw now. As he got even closer, he saw a handful of DMLE officials and Auror Proudfoot collecting a group of panicked witches and wizards – Nathan Rosier among them – into an orderly queue, probably towards an evacuation point. He spotted Richard Brown, hurrying away with his wife and mother, Lavender with them.

He spotted Auror Riley Blishwick, too, herding a bunch of Bulgarian-looking drunken witches away. But he couldn't see either of the Malfoys anywhere in the queue. Nor could he see Sirius.

Worried again, he spotted the Malfoy tent, standing high among the others. He walked closer to it, Cloak clutched tighter around him, alert for the slightest of danger and for the slightest sign of Acquila too.

Why couldn't he reach out to her? Why wasn't she pressing the Locator Charm Sirius had placed on her bracelet to alert them to her location? Was she in danger again? Unconscious like the last time, petrified, unable to move under the effect of yet another Dark spell, alone and helpless and powerless to do anything to protect herself? For half a moment, he could see Greyback's frightening eyes glaring down at himself, a silent scream straining and failing to escape her throat—but it was only Acquila's memory, from one her dreams that he been in. Shaking his head to clear it of the dreary thoughts, he continued walking, overtly aware of the Aurors and DMLE officers in the near distance, and the Death Eaters.

Walking carefully now, making sure no part of him was exposed, he went closer towards the Malfoy tent, only to suddenly spot a lone solitary figure running towards the woody area that lay behind the camps.

It was Sirius! Harry was sure it was his godfather from the tall height and the Auror robes billowing around the man.

He changed his path as swiftly as he could, weaving past what seemed like Yaxley's tent and between two sobbing witches, the Dark Mark still gleaming in the sky. Had they found the dead body yet, he wondered, shuddering as he worried over whom Voldemort could have targeted this time. _As long as it isn't Acquila,_ he thought, heart racing again as he sped up, certain that there was nobody about him now, slowly catching up with Sirius.

His godfather seemed certain about where he was heading. Had Sirius figured out where Acquila was, then? Had she beckoned to him with the Locator Charm?

But why did she have to leave their camp in the first place? _Why_ did she have to be so stubborn and go out alone when Sirius had expressly told her not to? Why did she have to get them all so worried, especially Sirius, when she knew what had happened last time?

Oh, Harry knew how much she cared for Draco Malfoy… but meeting him could have waited, surely, when she knew they weren't in a secure area, when she knew there was no protector with her, when she knew _Harry_ wasn't there with her!

So intent was he on his thoughts, that Harry noticed a moment too late the red jet of light speeding towards him. His wand moved, his body instinctively made to move out of the way of the spell, but he wasn't quick enough. The spell hit him, right in his chest, sending him falling to the ground, darkness quickly taking over his mind and his vision, unable to even try to move.

When he regained his senses and his mobility, Sirius stood over him, his sharp features looking sharper in the moonlight, fury writ large in his stormy eyes and the stern set of his face.

"What were you thinking?" Sirius growled, pulling Harry harshly to his feet. "I sent you home to bloody keep you safe! Why— _how_ the hell did you get here?"

"I couldn't sit back home when Acquila's missing!" exclaimed Harry, almost shrinking back from Sirius' fury, but not betraying how he had used Mopsy.

He had seen his godfather angry with him before, but never like this. "Do you realise what danger you could've put yourself in?" Sirius barked, eyes more black then grey as they bored into Harry's. "You think you're invincible beneath that Cloak and that stupid spell we taught you, but there are smarter wizards than you, Harry. I bloody knew someone was following me—and when I knew, _anyone_ else could have known too! Nott or Yaxley or whoever Voldemort has got in his fucking pocket! Do you realise what could happen if Voldemort gets hold of you, for Merlin's sake!"

"I—I'm—" Harry began, making to apologise, but something made him hold back. "I'm not sorry," he said finally, _honestly_ , "I'd do this again. You know I can't… I—I have to know where she is, I need to know she's safe," he admitted quietly.

Sirius only stared at him for a long moment, and squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Come on now, and don't you dare stray away. Stay close to me. And remain under the bloody Cloak."

"Do you know where she is?" asked Harry, pulling the Cloak over himself again. He knew Sirius was still angry with him. If he wasn't, he'd have ruffled his hair and called him _Prongslet,_ which he hadn't.

"Keep quiet," Sirius hissed in reply. Not wanting to annoy him further, Harry wisely obeyed his godfather.

They walked – more like ran – on and on into the woods, over dry leaves and jagged stones, through a thicket of tall trees that reminded Harry of the Forbidden Forest. The woods were silent – even Sirius seemed to have cast some sort of a spell to mute the sound of him trudging over the dried foliage – but for the chirping of insects and the occasional hoot of an owl who wasn't Hedwig.

Where was Acquila? What was she doing so deep into the woods? Had she gone on a walk with Draco, perhaps? But why would she come so far away from the camps, unless someone forced her to… unless someone whisked her away, against her will, like Greyback had done on that terrible night. The images hit his mind again, harder than they had before – Greyback, with his sharp teeth and those hungry eyes, pushing his knee between her thighs as he groped at her chest, promising that Sirius Black would never find his daughter whole and hearty ever again.

The sudden light streaming from the tip of Sirius' wand shook Harry out of his thoughts, the forest suddenly alight around them, startling a bird that shrieked loudly, fluttering its wings wildly as it flew away.

"Why—" Harry began, wondering why Sirius had suddenly decided to give away their presence – well, only his own presence rather seeing how Harry was under the Invisibility Cloak. But he got his answer in the form of something moving in the distance, just near the clump of oaks… not something, _someone._

It wasn't an enemy, Harry knew from the way Sirius wasn't tensed. Was it someone from the Auror Force or DMLE, perhaps? Maybe they had alerted Sirius already.

"Who's that?" Harry whispered, now certain that it was three people that he could see in the distance, not one.

"She found her," Sirius whispered, rushing towards the figures. "Come on!"

Harry followed the older wizard, a sense of relief and eagerness mingling with the earlier panic and worry. He could sense her now, before he could even see her clearly, her emotions washing over him like an unstoppable flood – she was fine, unharmed, unhurt… she wasn't even frightened or panicked, because she was with Irene, and – Harry knew who the third figure was before he even came into clear view – Cedric Diggory.

 **oOo**

 _Earlier_

Acquila frowned as she watched Harry and her Dad walk past the entrance of their tent and into the celebrating crowds in the distance.

She sat back onto the nearest couch, frowning.

She knew Sirius was just being protective not allowing her to go see Draco without a guard, and rightly so. After the many dangers that had befallen them since they'd started at Hogwarts, any parent would've been extra careful with their security. But that didn't help assuage the uneasiness that arose at the thought of keeping Draco waiting for her in vain.

She had promised him she'd visit him. She could imagine him now – pacing around his tent, glancing at the time every other minute, his eyes glued to the door to see her enter. It didn't seem right, going back to celebrate with the Weasleys while Draco brooded in his tent all alone.

Maybe she could—no, she couldn't. Her Dad would be mad at her, wouldn't he, if she sneaked out to meet Draco? Oh, he'd be _furious._

But she _could_ go meet Draco and return before Sirius and Harry did, couldn't she? The Bulgarian camp was so far away; it would take quite some to for them to reach there, Krum would probably keep them waiting a little like many celebrities did; then they'd have to walk back to the Weasley camp – all of which would take more than an hour and a half at least. She could easily go meet Draco, spend some time with him and come back, with Sirius none the wiser.

Her mind made up, Acquila walked out of the tent, wishing Harry had brought his Invisibility Cloak along. Along with protecting her, it would also keep her away from the gaze of some Auror or DMLE official who would surely tell her Dad she had sneaked out. She _wasn't_ some helpless girl like they all thought she was after the incident in the Forbidden Forest; she didn't need to be followed around everywhere by some armed witch or wizard ready to defend her against the slightest of danger. It felt suffocating to her – having someone follow her in public all the time, Ron and Neville's wary and slightly awed looks whenever an Auror tailed Harry and her, people around them getting even more of a reason to stare at her, knowing she was someone who needed added protection to even go to Diagon Alley to buy dress robes.

Oh, she understood why. She knew why her Dad was so paranoid about keeping Harry and her safe; she knew the acute danger Voldemort posed. But that didn't mean she was alright having someone on her tail every bloody time they went out.

Frowning, she slipped out of the tent. Making sure there was nobody watching her, she ran to the back of her tent, slipping past the Weasley's camp where she could hear the twins laughing loudly at something.

She felt another slight pang of guilt. Should she have told Hermione, perhaps? What if the Weasleys noticed she hadn't come back and presumed she was missing or something?

She paused in her steps momentarily, thinking. But one glance at her watch, and she decided she didn't quite want to waste time convincing Hermione, who would surely be aghast that Acquila was leaving despite Sirius' express orders. And anyway, Harry would know where she was; he always did. She would be back before anyone even noticed she was missing.

Reassuring herself, gripping her wand in her hand, she passed quickly in between the many tents, watching drunken celebrations, a brawl or two starting here and there, children flying around on their toy broomsticks and fireworks bursting loud and bright.

She spotted a cap with Irish colours lying on in a bush on the way and pulled it on, pulling the brim down so it covered a little of her face. It would help keep her identity under wraps a little, what with almost everyone in magical Britain knowing how she looked.

Thankfully, there weren't many Aurors around; she spotted a couple of DMLE officers who were too occupied with trying to diffuse a massive, scary-looking firecracker which would surely attract the attention of Muggles miles away. They didn't even notice her walk past them, the sudden sparks emitting from the tail of the cracker securing all their attention.

Nevertheless, she was still alert, keen to remain unspotted by any of her Dad's colleagues. For all that she'd grown friendly with most of them now, she knew they'd rat her out if they knew she was roaming around unguarded.

She had barely crossed the loudly singing group of witches, ducking behind a tall wizard passing by because she spotted Irene Summerby a little distance away, when she heard someone speak from right behind her: "Whom are you hiding from?"

Her heart suddenly racing, she turned around swiftly, wand drawn, a spell at the tip of her tongue when she recognised who it was: with brown hair and those familiar blue-grey eyes gazing down at her, that handsome face – Cedric Diggory.

"Hey!" she blurted out, drawing her wand back quickly. Fortunately, Cedric didn't seem to have noticed that, or he'd surely wonder why she'd been about to break the law against Underage Magic.

"Hello," he said, a little curiously, though there was that gorgeous smile playing at his lips. "Whom are you hiding from? I saw you sneaking around…"

As Cedric grinned at her, Acquila felt very stupid – she was still wearing that Ireland cap and her hair was a mess, there was that little stain on her shirt where she'd dropped some Butterbeer earlier. But that didn't really matter now, did it? She didn't need to be so self-conscious around Cedric… _not when he's with Cho Chang… and when I have Harry…_

"I'm trying to hide from Irene—I mean, Auror Summerby," she muttered.

"Why are you hiding from her? Did you get into trouble or something?" He chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," she began. Would he think she was still a little girl or something, if she told him her Dad hadn't permitted her to leave the camp alone? She sighed, not wanting to lie. Anyway, Cedric had probably already seen the DMLE guys who'd escorted her to the Top Box earlier. He already knew she needed someone to secure her always. "I'm not supposed to leave the camp. Dad told me not to… but I promised Draco I would meet him after the match. And I'm not really one to break promises…"

"So you're sort of rebelling against your Dad, huh? That's pretty brave of you. I hear your Dad isn't someone to be messed with or lied to," quipped Cedric.

"Well, I'm not _that_ brave seeing I'm hiding from his colleagues who'll rat me out to him," she replied, grinning. "I just don't want to disappoint Draco."

"Draco Malfoy, huh?" said Cedric, looking thoughtful.

"Yes," said Acquila warily. She knew Cedric didn't view Draco with disgust because of his lycanthropy. He'd already told her that once before. But someone mentioning Draco always kept her on the edge because of how people usually treated him with revulsion and disdain.

"I've seen you with him," said Cedric quietly. "You've been a good friend to him since he got bitten, haven't you? Helped him get out of his shell and cheered him up always… My Dad and Andromeda Tonks were talking about you that day at the party at your manor… how you've been really brilliant with him…"

Acquila felt her face turning warm. "Draco's my cousin," she said, waving off his words, "He's family. And the lycanthropy didn't matter to me because we've known Remus so well for years now. It's nothing, really—"

"And you're modest too," said Cedric, grinning. "Silly me for thinking you were a typical haughty pureblood when I saw you at your party that evening. You did look beautiful, by the way."

"You told me that already," she said, blushing faintly again.

Why was she feeling so coy like one of those silly girls who fawned over Cedric? Why did he and his words always make her feel so—so— _damn_ , she didn't even have a word for it! It was nothing like what she felt for Harry, of course. But this felt nice – not knowing what Cedric was going to say, not being able to preempt his words like she could Harry's, not knowing what he was thinking like she always knew what Harry was… the Hufflepuff seemed like a mystery to her.

It seemed… almost refreshing, talking to someone who knew nothing of Horcuxes and Voldemort and Greyback and whatnot, someone who didn't know that she had to put Silencing Charms on her room to suppress her screams when her nightmares kept her awake… someone who didn't know of the cursed scar on her clavicle – a permanent mark of the Slytherin Locket and her mother's ghostly apparition that had arisen from it… someone who didn't know how feeble a wisp her wand emitted when she cast the Patronus Charm and how her wandless magic had failed her when she fell into Greyback's clutches…

She curbed her thoughts, only now realizing that Cedric had fallen into step with her and they were walking towards the Malfoy camp.

She stopped abruptly. "What way were you headed?"

"Back to my own tent. I was celebrating with a couple of my friends … the ones I was playing Quidditch with that day, remember? But, never mind that," he replied, "I'll accompany you till Draco Malfoy's tent… give you a safe escort."

She felt an irrational annoyance at his words. "You think I can't take care of myself, then?"

"Of course you can," he said, grinning. "But I'm pretty tall, you can hide behind me when an Auror walks by. And I needed an excuse to walk with you."

"You've used that line before, you know? The excuse one," she quipped, remembering their walk through Hogwarts on the night she'd sneaked out under Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

"I remember that," he said, "But being around you leaves me tongue-tied and at a loss for words, sometimes."

Acquila rolled her eyes at that, though she knew she was blushing a little again. "Really? Is that the best you can come up with?" she chuckled.

"I wasn't lying when I said you have me at a loss for words," said Cedric. He smiled and looked at her in an endearing sort of way, which made her look away from him for reasons she couldn't quite fathom.

Cedric seemed to sense her confusion, for her cleared his throat and changed the topic. "Speaking of Professor Lupin, my Dad says he's working really well at the Werewolf Liaison Office. Do you know he managed to unite four of the children they found in the forest packs with their families?"

"Yes," said Acquila. She remembered how Dora had told them about it when they'd all met for dinner. How proud they'd all been of Remus and his work with the werewolves!

"That property your father donated – Professor Lupin has set it all in order, my Dad says… He had the werewolves rehabilitated there and everything. Even Minister Fudge is very happy with Remus' work," went on Cedric.

Acquila smiled, knowing the Minister would've probably praised Remus even if he'd been bad at his job because he was Lord Sirius Black's best friend. "Remus loves his job," she told Cedric happily. "He's always liked helping out people."

"I know," said Cedric. "I remember he always tried to help out John and Wilson—they're my friends, during our DADA lessons. And he—" He paused abruptly, grasping Acquila's hand and pulling her back.

She looked at him, bewildered. Then she spotted Auror Proudfoot ahead, his tall, thin figure easily recognisable despite how dark it was here without the lanterns that had lit up the areas they'd earlier walked by.

They waited behind one of the tents for Proudfoot to leave.

"I can't believe I'm helping you hide from Aurors," Cedric whispered, slowly letting go of her hand.

"Don't worry," she said, smirking, "If my Dad finds out, I'll make sure he doesn't know you helped from his colleagues."

"I wouldn't mind facing your Dad's wrath, you know," he quipped, grinning that lop-sided smile of his that made her insides wriggle, "If it means I get to spend time with you."

Acquila only smiled a little politely, not quite knowing what to say. It was strange how she usually didn't know how to respond to Cedric's _flirting._ Nobody ever said such things to her. It felt almost… _nice…_ because Cedric, although he was flirting, seemed to mean what he said, unlike blokes like Marcus Flint who only ever sought to flatter her because they eyed the Black wealth.

"Now that I am an accomplice in helping you evade the Aurors, I might as well do it properly, eh?" said Cedric, when he realised she wasn't going to reply to his earlier remark. "Let's walk behind the tents. No one will notice you, and there'll be lesser people to avoid."

Acquila agreed, and they left the main path once Proudfoot was out of sight. They walked from behind the line of tents, where there were lesser lights, lesser people and lesser noise.

"This was a good idea," she began, only to realise that other people had had the same idea as them – the couples they now spotted there, each pair involved in what seemed like some heavy snogging.

"You spoke too soon, huh?" said Cedric, as Acquila averted her eyes from them, feeling suddenly weird again.

Damn, this was a little awkward – Cedric and her weaving their way through the gamut of couples… one pair even seemed in a rather indecent state of undress.

On unspoken agreement, not even meeting Cedric's eyes, they both went a little towards the wooded area that Arthur Weasley had pointed out to them all earlier.

It was a better option even though it was a longer route and would make Draco wait a little longer for her, she decided, looking around warily at the tall trees that they walked beneath.

 _Everything's fine,_ she told herself, trying not to notice how the tress blocked the moonlight that had shone over them mere minutes ago, everything around her shrouded in a darkness that felt eerier with the faint chirping of insects, the occasional hoot of an owl – all of it reminded her of that night in the Forbidden Forest with Greyback, making her feel uneasy and unsettled, bringing back memories she had thought she had successfully banished to the very back of her mind.

 _I thought I had got over my fear,_ she mused to herself, feeling her palms turning a little clammy, something unpleasant churning in her belly. But she didn't dare say anything. She couldn't, not in front of Cedric who knew nothing of that ghastly night and the never-erasing trauma it had birthed in her mind. She didn't want Cedric to know she was a scared little girl, some damsel in distress who always needed to be rescued by her Dad and Harry and even Remus and Draco last time— _damn_ , she thought she had forgotten these feelings of powerlessness, of inferiority.

 _If Harry was here, he would've known I'm not feeling comfortable here,_ she thought vaguely, wondering if he could sense her even now, when he was far off in the Bulgarian camp. But when she reached out to him, she was almost taken aback by the sense of joy he felt at the thought of meeting Victor Krum, of eagerness and excitement that overtook _her_ uneasiness in a trice, making her feel suddenly nice and cheerful.

 _This isn't normal,_ she thought, _my mood swinging from one extreme to another because of what Harry's feeling._ But she didn't want to dwell on that now, when she was feeling much better than she'd been feeling moments ago, with an oblivious Cedric by her side.

She only now realised that the Hufflepuff was saying something, that she hadn't even noticed he'd been speaking to her.

"—our DADA teacher this year?" he was saying, "I'm sure you have some kind of an idea. Ted Tonks is on the Board of Governors, isn't he?"

"I don't know," she replied, the mystery of their new DADA professor taking her thoughts away from the earlier dreary ones. "Harry and I asked Uncle Ted, but he said he'll keep it a surprise for us."

"Well, whoever it is, I hope it's someone who's as good as Professor Lupin was," Cedric said.

Acquila nodded.

Cedric went on, then, speaking about school, about how this would be his last year at Hogwarts, about the upcoming Quidditch season and emulating some of Krum's moves he'd watched today. She chimed in too occasionally, telling him about the places Harry and she visited in France. Cedric seemed very interested with all she told him of the Muggle world… it was nice talking to him, like a breath of fresh air…

Something made her glance at her watch, though. Damn, it had already been almost half an hour since she left the tent. Draco was waiting for her; and Harry and her Dad would be back soon. She risked a little glance into Harry's mind… but she didn't even need to delve in too deep to know he was waiting for Krum to come out and meet him now.

She looked at Cedric to tell him they'd better walk faster. But she found looking at her with a twinkle in his eye, a look that made her heart skip a beat.

"What is it?" she asked him, blushing.

"You," he said finally, "are such fascinating girl."

"Really?" she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she even realised she had thought them. "I hear you found Cho Chang very fascinating too."

Cedric seemed a bit surprised by that. "Yes… but well, we ended things a few days ago. It wasn't anything serious, really."

Acquila nodded. She didn't really know how she felt about that – a teeny bit happy, she realised, though she should have perhaps been indifferent to it.

"How—oh, the Weasley twins told you, did they?" wondered Cedric. "They know everything that goes on in the school, those two."

Acquila shrugged.

"You seem pretty perturbed by it, eh?" he asked her, grinning a little slyly now. "Cho Chang and me…"

"No," she replied, shrugging again. "I just asked you… for no particular reason as such…"

"I did quite like Cho, but… well, I realised it wasn't her I wanted to be with… there's someone I think I fancy a lot more," said Cedric slowly, slowing down now, so that Acquila had to come to a stop too.

There was that look on his face again, that look of hope and a bit of smugness, a little hesitance. He was a bloke who wore his heart on his sleeve. She had seen that look once before – when he'd been about to ask her out, at Hogsmeade, a few hours before Greyback and his pack had murdered Mrs Smith.

Right on cue, Cedric continued, looking rather adorable as he grinned at her. "Remember that day at Hogsmeade? And in the library after that?"

She nodded, feeling suddenly nervous, her tummy feeling like there were dozens of Snitches fluttering within. The thought of Snitches suddenly reminded her of Harry taking a Snitch with him for Krum to autograph… Harry—she couldn't do this to Harry, not like this. Oh, she was charmed by Cedric, but Harry was a different matter altogether… he was a part of her, he was _hers_ and she couldn't—no, she didn't want to think about any of it now, not like this, with Cedric about to ask her out, and with what she knew Harry felt for her, what she still felt for him…

"You said I could ask you," Cedric went on, "sometime later. And I want to—"

"Ow!" exclaimed Acquila, deliberately tripping over one of the tree roots scattered over the forest floor.

"Are you hurt?" exclaimed Cedric, quick enough to stop her fall before she could tumble face first to the ground, his hand clasping her arm.

"I'm fine—I'm fine," she said, steadying herself. Oh how her shin hurt, but this was diversion enough from the topic Cedric sought to speak of.

"Wait, let me light up the way. Now that I'm seventeen, I can do magic outside of Hogwarts. I keep forgetting that," he said, only to gasp suddenly. "Where's my wand gone?"

"You can't find your wand?" exclaimed Acquila, "Did you have it with you when you were with your friends?"

"Yes, I did," said Cedric. She could see his suddenly tense features in the moonlight that filtered in from the foliage above. "It was right here," he said, sounding panicked now, touching his back pocket, "I remember it was here when we walked behind the tents."

 _Never put your wand in your back pocket,_ she remembered Mad Eye Moody saying to her once. But this wasn't quite the time to tell Cedric that.

"Maybe it fell down when we were walking," she said, "Let's look for it—retrace our steps. We'll find it, don't worry."

She took her own wand and muttered _Lumos,_ watching it light the path ahead.

"You shouldn't have done that!" Cedric exclaimed, "The statute of Underage Wizardry—"

"It's fine," said Acquila, thinking vaguely that Harry would never bothered about the statute. _But he did say that in the Burrow,_ she reminded herself, _he didn't let me practice Magic for days on end because he didn't want to upset Molly Weasley. Or I'd have been better at my Patronus charm now._

The thought seemed petulant to her own ears. And it wasn't really important now. What mattered was finding Cedric's wand.

They walked back the way they'd come, Acquila's land lighting up the leaf-laden ground. However, they couldn't spot the wand at all. They were in a forested area which had thousands of twigs and fallen branches that looked like wands at the first glance; and she didn't even know what Cedric's wand looked like.

"It's made of ash," said Cedric, sounding less panicked and more in control now. "Ash and Unicorn tail feather."

"Okay," said Acquila, looking around more keenly now. But something seemed to be wrong. Had they even walked this way earlier? She didn't remember walking past this clump of oak trees.

"Are we on the right way?" she asked Cedric.

"I think we are," he replied quietly, staring around them, his brow a little creased.

"Okay," she said, but she wasn't sure they were on the right path. Suddenly, everything seemed to look the same – the same towering trees, the same uneven path, the same clump of little bushes here and there.

"Look there—someone's there! Let's ask him if he's found a wand somewhere," said Cedric, pointing at a figure in the distance standing with his back to them.

"Wait," said Acquila; something didn't seem right. What was this man doing here in the woods? Why did he seem familiar? It took her only a moment more to realise who it was. She'd have recognised that shade of platinum blond anywhere; after all, Draco's hair was the same shade.

But Cedric was already approaching the man, no doubt worried about his wand.

She hesitated for a moment, then rushed after Cedric. She had nothing to fear from Lucius Malfoy. She had set him afire when she was barely eleven. For all that her magic had weakened now, she knew she could take on Malfoy if he tried something funny. Plus she knew the man was too scared of her Dad to try to harm her. And what was he doing here anyway, leaving Draco alone?

Damn, Draco was waiting for her, and she was still here…

"Malfoy!" she called out to him before Cedric could speak.

Lucius Malfoy turned to them. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair disheveled unlike how impeccably combed it usually was, a strong stench of liquor clinging to him, growing stronger the closer they got. He blinked, instinctively shielding his eyes as the light from Acquila's wand fell over him.

"Mr Malfoy," said Cedric politely, sounding extremely cautious now. "Have you found a wand lying around? I dropped mine."

Lucius Malfoy did not reply. He merely stared at Acquila, with a glare that seemed to contain unfathomable rancor.

"Weren't you to—to meet Draco?" Malfoy asked her, slurring.

Cedric looked highly confused.

Acquila remained mute, wondering how much Lucius Malfoy had drunk. What was he doing here in the woods anyway?

"He's waiting," Malfoy muttered, his words tripping over one another, "D—Draco—waiting for you— _Acquila's coming to visit me, Father! I'm so happy!"_ he added in a sudden singsong voice. "And you're here—out with your half-blood lover boy, you 'lil bitch—"

"Don't call her that!" exclaimed Cedric, bristling. "We're leaving now. Acquila, come on."

Acquila glared at Malfoy, furious. But she knew Cedric was right. They had his wand to find, she had to visit Draco and get back to the tent before Sirius came. There was no sense in wasting time with a drunk Malfoy.

She nodded grimly, making to walk away, noticing how Cedric seemed to want to shield her from Lucius Malfoy. That was very sweet of him, she supposed, but also stupid because _she_ was the one with the wand.

"Wait—wait, you blood traitor brats—" called out Lucius Malfoy, "weren't you lookin' for this?"

There, in Malfoy's hand was a wand that didn't look like it belonged to the Malfoy patriarch.

Cedric's eyes went wide. "That's my wand!" he exclaimed. He held his hand out to take it from him.

But Lucius Malfoy didn't hand the wand over. He just grinned, and there was a sudden maniacal glint in his silvery eyes.

"Give Cedric his wand back," said Acquila, holding her wand at her side, not wanting to seem confrontational yet. The light that had been shining out of her wand-tip was gone now, and they were thrust into a sudden darkness, Acquila blinking rapidly to make out Lucius'muttering figure until her eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight.

"Mr Malfoy, please—" began Cedric.

"Acquila Black," drawled Lucius, twirling Cedric's wand. He didn't even seem to care or remember Cedric's presence now. He only glared at Acquila. "You th—think you can always get what you want, don't you? Like your oh so mighty blood traitor of a father? Sh—S—Sirius fucking Black!" He was tripping over the _s_ 's now, lisping, muttering under his breath one moment and aloud the next.

"Poking your bloody noses into my f—family, my _wife,_ my s—son! Your bloody father and you, thinking you own the f—fucking world!" said Lucius harshly, still twirling the wand in his hands, pointing it at Acquila now.

"Look," said Acquila, alert now, "We just want the wand back!"

She could sense Cedric tensing next to her, suddenly panicked. For all that he was older than her, Acquila knew he'd probably never been in a situation like this. Although she knew Malfoy wouldn't dare harm her, Cedric probably only saw him as a dangerous former Death Eater against a wandless boy and a fourteen year old girl who wasn't even supposed to be doing magic.

"You _can't—_ youbloody _can't h_ ave everything you want, Black!" snarled Malfoy.

Acquila knew there was no reasoning with Malfoy when he was so tipsy. There was no use wasting time over this. She doubted she even had time enough to meet Draco now. She had to get back to her own tent before her Dad and Harry got back. She had to get Cedric away from this man.

In a swift motion, she raised her own wand, and pointed it at Lucius.

"Acquila, no!" exclaimed Cedric.

Before Acquila knew what was happening, Cedric lunged at Malfoy, no doubt wanting to wrest the wand out of his hand before he could hurt either of them. But Lucius Malfoy was quicker. One swish of the wand, and the blond wizard sent the Hufflepuff flying away. Acquila winced as she heard the dull thud of Cedric hitting the ground.

"Stop that!" she cried, furious at Malfoy. She made certain that Cedric – who was getting to his feet swiftly – was fine, before she glared at Malfoy, who made no further move against them.

"Accio wand!" she exclaimed.

But Lucius Malfoy, it seemed, wasn't _as_ drunk as she thought. He dodged her spell easily, stumbling at the sudden motion, but steadying himself almost immediately, his eyes wide and blazing furiously now.

"You dare!" he exclaimed angrily. "You dare cast a s—spell on _me,_ you blood traitor!"

"I told you!" she shot back. "Leave Cedric alone! Give me back the wand, and we'll go. Don't make me call my Dad and the Aurors—"

"Heh!" Malfoy chuckled mirthlessly. "Hiding behind daddy now, are we? Not so f—fucking conf—fident now, you little pup?"

He pointed Cedric's wand at her again. And Acquila tightened her grip on her own wand, a sudden spurt of adrenaline seeming to rush through her.

"Cedric, stay back!" she called, confident she could take on the Malfoy bastard.

"Mr Malfoy, please!" Cedric turned to Lucius Malfoy now, swiftly coming in between them both, facing the wizard, his back to Acquila. "We can sort this out—"

"Cedric, move away!" she exclaimed. Malfoy wouldn't hurt her, but she couldn't promise he would think twice before harming a half-blood Cedric in his inebriated state.

"Expelliarmus!" she exclaimed, quickly pushing Cedric away and sending the spell at Lucius Malfoy.

But Malfoy, surprisingly, was quick. He flicked her spell away with a twirl of Cedric's wand. Repeated torture at Voldemort's hands during his Death Eater days had probably made him adept with a wand even when he wasn't completely in his senses.

Malfoy laughed, a loud, evil-sounding laugh that made her bristle.

"You have s—some of her in you, girl," Malfoy spat, "Marlene McKinnon, your blood traitor of an aunt. Oh how feisty she was—casting sp—spells and curses—"

Cedric was saying something to her. But she didn't even register what it was. All she could hear was Lucius Malfoy's laugher, ringing in her ears. _Marlene McKinnon,_ her Mum's sister, the aunt she didn't even remember…

"—b—but your grandfather—that Edward, he died begging, you know—begging for the lives of his wife and daughter—your blood traitor parents could do nothing—your bloody father didn't even come in time to save them—to watch me kill Edward—watch the light die in his eyes—"

"STUPEFY!" she cried, but Malfoy's Shield Charm was quicker than she was. He still stumbled at the force of her spell, though.

She stared at Malfoy now, Cedric still saying something.

They stood watching each other – the man and the girl, for a second, for a minute, for an hour, Acquila didn't know how long it was. All she knew was that she felt alive.

This was what she'd been waiting for since months; the anger seemed to surge within her, her ire at Malfoy's words about her mother's family now snowballing into a red hot mass, the fury and frustration that had plagued her for weeks now mingling with it, her insecurity at how her magic was weakening, the chance to prove herself now, to use all she had against the man aiming Cedric's wand at them, a chance to let go, to feel the magic racing through her body, from her belly to the tips of her toes, from her head to the tips of her fingers, flowing from her very soul, channeling itself through her wand onto this man she had once sworn to kill, this man who had played a part in torturing her Aunt Marlene, who had killed her Grandfather Edward, who had rejoiced at her Mum's death and her Dad's incarceration in Azkaban, this man who had caused Draco to be bitten, the man she had once set on fire in the courtroom in the Ministry of Magic with a mere glare at him.

Malfoy stared at her, waiting and watching. He seemed suddenly unsure now.

And she knew – she knew _Malfoy_ knew what she was trying to do. He stared at her, his hand shaking slightly, but his eyes widening, as if to focus clearly on her.

Malfoy _knew_ what she was trying to do, but why wasn't he attacking her yet? What was holding him back? Why was his wand held in a defensive stance instead of an attacking one?

And why— _why_ wasn't the magic flowing through her like it had when she dueled Quirrel, when she dueled Ginny-Voldemort wandlessly, when she shook Dumbledore's very office? Why couldn't she feel it thrumming in her, rising within her, burning bright and hot, making her fingers tingle as she felt the magic working its way through her body? Why couldn't she feel it? Why did she suddenly feel so powerless? Where had all her power gone?

"What's this?" Malfoy laughed now, breaking the tense silence; though he still had Cedric's wand pointed at her. "No wandless magic, girl? No f—fire?"

"Shut up!" she yelled back. But her palms were sweaty now, her heart racing with fear rather than adrenaline. Why couldn't she summon her magic? Why could she feel nothing, just weak little wisps simmering within her instead of the volcano her magic earlier felt like?

"Kneazle got your tongue now, girl? Where's your courage? Gryf—findor, aren't you?" laughed Lucius Malfoy.

"Mr Malfoy, let us go! See sense here—" began Cedric, making to move towards Lucius, a determined glint in his eyes that told Acquila he was about to do something very brave and very stupid yet again.

But before he could, Malfoy raised Cedric's wand to the sky.

"Morsmorde!" he shouted, and the jet of glimmering ghastly green shot from the tip of the wand right into the night sky, setting the velvety black alight with the Dark Mark.

With that, Malfoy laughed aloud, and threw Cedric's wand to the ground.

Acquila stared at him, speechless and stunned.

What was going on—the Dark Mark! _The Dark Mark!_ What had Malfoy done that for?

"You—you bloody—"

Malfoy was still laughing, no signs of getting to the fallen wand.

But Cedric had grabbed her arm. "Come on!" he said. "We need to get out of here before he grabs the wand again! Come on!"

Malfoy didn't even seem to notice or care that Cedric wanted her away from there.

"B—but the Mark! Your wand!" she sputtered.

"COME ON!" said Cedric, literally dragging her away. "My wand doesn't matter! The Dark Mark symbolises death and I don't mean to get either of us killed!"

For once, she didn't respond. Still stunned and feeling strangely hollow within, she let the Hufflepuff take her hand and lead her swiftly through the woods, as far away, the camps arose in a frightened uproar.

 **oOo**

 _Now_

Harry's wand-light illuminated the three figures: Irene, Acquila and Cedric Diggory.

"Acquila!" exclaimed Sirius. He didn't seem surprised at all about Cedric's presence, nothing of the astonishment Harry felt.

"I found her!" called Irene, as Sirius rushed to them, Harry following, wand clutched tightly in his hand, speechless with relief and something else he didn't want to acknowledge – something dark and hollow that was taking over him.

He looked up at the Dark Mark once, and then back at Acquila again.

"Dad, Harry!" said Acquila, red-faced and panting, but safe.

"Are you hurt? Are you alright?" Sirius exclaimed as he gathered her in his arms.

"We're fine, Dad!" she said, hugging Sirius back.

Harry watched them, half wishing he could hug Acquila too, make certain she was fine and unhurt, hold her close to him and hear her heart beating against his, and rest his face in the crook of her neck, feeling her pulse beating against his cheek. But there was something holding him back, something that made him look away from her and at Irene, who ruffled his hair, at the Dark Mark glimmering overhead, look anywhere but at her and Cedric Diggory.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius whispered, holding Acquila tight. "I was so worried when we couldn't find you."

"I'm fine," said Acquila, as Sirius let go of her. "Harry," she said, turning to him.

Harry met her gaze, grey and bright in the moonlight; but he only managed a weak smile and looked to Sirius again.

Harry knew what was coming, of course. Now that Sirius had made sure Acquila was alright, his rage was going to return doubly fierce. It helped thinking of Sirius' fury than dwelling on his own – the churning in his mind and his heart, something dark and bitter and sinister that only seemed to increase when he gazed at the skull in the sky.

"What were you thinking?" Sirius demanded, glaring at Acquila now. "Why did you go out? I told you to remain in the bloody tent!"

Acquila looked taken aback. "I didn't think this would—"

"Do you know what a scare you gave us? Everyone's looking for you! Arthur and his boys, the Aurors, the bloody DMLE!" Sirius growled at her.

Another time Harry would perhaps have intervened, tried to calm his godfather down.

 _But why should I now?_ he found himself thinking. Why did Acquila always have to get into something like this? Why did she bloody have to sneak out, without even telling Hermione or the others? _Why_ was she with Cedric Diggory when she had told him— _lied_ that she wanted to meet Draco? _Why_ was she here, in the bloody forest, alone with the Hufflepuff, sneaking out, without telling Harry at all?

Perhaps that was why Harry hadn't been able to sense her thoughts all this while – because she didn't want him to, because she was with Diggory.

"I've told you time and again – don't move around alone without someone with you," said Sirius, fuming, "I _told_ you not to leave the tent, but still you had to go and—"

"Mr Black—" began Cedric Diggory.

"Dad!" Acquila spoke over Cedric, now annoyed at being yelled at. "We didn't even know we'd—"

"There's the Dark Mark in the sky!" Sirius spoke over her. "Do you even realise how dangerous this is? You know what _he_ can do, you bloody know what he's capable of! Why can't you stay out of trouble—"

"Sirius, stop it," cut in Irene, her hazel eyes bright as she stared at Sirius, "At listen to what—"

"You keep out of this!" Sirius snapped at Irene, making Harry surprised at the tone of his voice. "You have no right to get into this. This is none of your business! She's _my_ daughter, let me deal with her."

Irene glared back at Sirius, her jaw clenching. A moment passed, and Harry thought he saw something unspoken pass between the two Aurors, something in Irene's fierce glare and Sirius' equally harsh one, until Sirius looked away.

"She may be your daughter, but she's a witness to Lucius Malfoy casting the Dark Mark," said Irene, her voice steely now, eyes narrowed. "Until I take her statement, she remains with me, as does Mr Diggory here—"

"Wait—Malfoy? What do you mean Lucius Malfoy?" exclaimed Sirius.

Acquila said nothing, glaring at him like Irene was.

It was Cedric Diggory who spoke. "It was Lucius Malfoy, Mr Black. He was drunk—he argued with Acquila, and then cast the D—Dark Mark."

"Fuck!" swore Sirius, running a furious hand through his hair.

 **oOo**

Half an hour later, Sirius was as frazzled as he had been in the woods, the Dark Mark still shone in the sky, and Harry was still in a foul mood, his grip on his wand as strong as it had been earlier. His heart seemed to race. Or perhaps, it was Acquila's heart that was racing. Or perhaps it _was_ his own heart, thudding because of the fury that seemed to simmer within him, raging against his hold on it.

It seemed alien to him, the anger, the fury – belonging to him, but not belonging to him, too. Was it Acquila's anger rubbing off on him (because Acquila was furiously arguing with Sirius in the distance)? Or were these _Voldemort_ 's emotions? Perhaps they were. But this wasn't the time to tell Sirius about it.

Perhaps it _was_ his own rage, Harry decided again, as he watched Acquila exchanging angry words with Sirius, Cedric Diggory by her side. She didn't want to go back home. She wanted to remain here because she was the only eye-witness who could confirm that though the Dark Mark had been cast with Cedric's wand, the Hufflepuff hadn't been the one to cast it. She wanted to remain with Cedric; she wanted to see Lucius Malfoy dragged off to Azkaban; she wanted to have her way, like she always did, uncaring of how it would affect others around her, how it would affect _Harry._

He shut his eyes, opening them again, trying and failing not to look up at the Dark Mark, his scar pricking again.

 _Lucius Malfoy,_ he thought grimly, surreptitiously touching his forehead, his fingers seeming to burn as they brushed the scarred skin on his brow. _Lucius Malfoy._ This was _all_ because of him.

Oh, the Aurors had found and arrested Malfoy, alright. The moment he spotted Malfoy, Sirius had lunged at the blond wizard, landing a fist straight on Lucius Malfoy's face twice, roaring _how dare you point a wand at my daughter, you bastard!_ It had taken two Aurors to pull Sirius off Malfoy.

In pain and bleeding, the former Death Eater had confessed to casting the Mark, his eyes red and dazed, his feet unsteady, a bruise blooming on his jaw, the stench of alcohol emanating from him as he muttered about the drink making him lose his senses, claiming he never meant to cast the Mark at all.

Sirius' jaw had clenched tighter with each word that Lucius Malfoy uttered. Apart from Lucius daring to attack Acquila, Harry knew Sirius was furious because of all the trouble that the Ministry would now have to deal with – news of the Mark was all over the wizarding world thanks to the heavy presence of the world media to cover the Quidditch Final; the ensuing chaos and stampede had injured a few people, Madam Bones had been badgered by reporters with questions about You Know Who and about Fudge's incapability as Minister of Magic. Sirius would surely have a tough time with a paranoid Minister Fudge now.

But there was also the matter of Lucius Malfoy working for Sirius' cause with his former Death Eater buddies. Sirius could _not_ let him go to Azkaban. His godfather was a muddle of frustration and indecision now, barking at his fellow Aurors while Scrimgeour fumed, reasoning with a furious Madam Bones, trying to assure a just-arrived Narcissa Malfoy that he was doing his best to handle the matter (Draco was nowhere to be seen), dealing with Amos Diggory who was frightened that his son would be implicated in the matter because it was his wand that had cast the Mark.

"Dad, I don't want to go home now! The Aurors haven't even taken my statement!" Harry heard Acquila heatedly telling Sirius. Her needlessly arguing with him now was only serving to make Sirius – and Harry – further angry.

Harry turned away from her, looking up at the sky again.

It still remained there, the Dark Mark, hollow-eyed and menacing, though it was a mere shadow of the bright green it had been earlier, bright enough to reflect in his godfather's wide, frantic eyes as he had grabbed at Harry protectively, urging him on through the throngs of people towards their own tents. He curled his fingers into a fist as he remembered the fear on Sirius' face when they saw Acquila was missing, the numbness in his own limbs when he realised Acquila was gone, with chaos all around, with the Dark Mark in the sky, reminding him frighteningly of that night with Greyback in the Forbidden Forest, where he had been unable to find her in Hogwarts and then rushed to the Forest, finding her at the werewolf's mercy.

It made him bristle, merely watching the skull. The Dark Mark shouldn't have been there. None of this should have happened.

"Dad! Please, I need to be here!" Acquila's voice made Harry look at her again. Her hair was a mess, her boots scruffy, her face red from all the talking she was doing. "Harry, back me up!" she told Harry now, grey eyes imploring.

But Harry said nothing. Looking at her was only making him irritated for some reason.

This shouldn't have happened. Sirius shouldn't have had to be so panicked and frazzled; Harry shouldn't have had to spend those long, frightening minutes searching for Acquila, imagining all the scary things that could've happened to her. The Dark Mark _shouldn't_ have been in the sky.

Acquila glared at Harry when he said nothing, her anger only infuriating him more. She turned back to Sirius. "Dad—"

"That's enough!" roared Sirius aloud, startling Harry. "I have enough to take care of here without you biting my head off with your stubbornness!"

"But Dad—" Acquila made to interject angrily, bristling at being scolded in front of Sirius' fellow Aurors and the DMLE officials and _Cedric._

"Come here," said Sirius, tugging Acquila a little roughly into a corner, away from anyone's earshot.

"Let me handle this," Sirius told her quietly. It took Harry a moment to realise that he was hearing Sirius because Acquila was. "I need to get Lucius out of this, do you understand? I need him to work for me. I cannot let him get sent to Azkaban."

"Dad, he could have attacked me and Cedric! He was bragging about killing Grandfather Edward!" protested Acquila. "He used Cedric's wand to—"

" _Let me handle this_!" Sirius cut in harshly, glaring at Acquila angrily now – a look that Harry had never seen his godfather direct at his daughter before. "You're going home, _right_ now! Your being here is going to make things worse! I don't want anyone questioning you before I set things right. Harry, come here!" Sirius looked at Harry, who walked quickly towards the two Blacks.

Sirius pulled out the Snitch – the one that Victor Krum had autographed for Harry – from his pocket, and whispered a spell, pointing his wand at it. "Take this, and go home. Both of you. Stay there until I come back."

Harry nodded, taking the Snitch.

"But, Dad! I told you—"

"Come on!" It was Harry who cut Acquila off now, taking her hand more roughly than he had intended to, and leading her a little away from Sirius as the Snitch glowed a bright blue. Harry placed the Snitch between their clasped hands. But unlike how he always found a sense of warmth and affection whenever he touched Acquila's hand and entwined their fingers together, the contact with her only seemed to irritate him now.

"Acquila!" Sirius called to her. "Don't you dare step out of home again. Stay there until I come," he repeated.

She huffed, and then looked at Cedric. "Bye, Cedric. I'll see you—"

But the Snitch glowed brighter before she could finish, and everything around them disappeared in a trice.

Harry's feet touched the ground harshly for the third time that night, that familiar tug in his navel. He almost stumbled, trying to tighten his hold on Acquila's hand to help her get properly on her feet. But she was already steadying herself.

"What was that?" she demanded, tugging her hand out of his. "Why didn't you back me up? I need to be there! I'm the only witness that Cedric's innocent!"

"Sirius can handle it," Harry told her, his fury seeming to deflate suddenly in the face of hers. "He knows what needs to be done—and he told you that we can't have Malfoy sent to Azkaban."

"Malfoy should have gone to Azkaban _years_ ago!" she snarled. "He killed my Grandfather! He told me about it—how he murdered him and tortured Aunt Marlene! He cast a spell at Cedric and raised his wand at me today, and now Dad's just going to let him go?"

Harry squirmed. Acquila was right. Lucius Malfoy did deserve to rot in Azkaban. But Sirius had said he needed Malfoy for the fight against Voldemort. And Harry trusted his godfather implicitly.

"Look, I know you're mad about whatever Malfoy said. But he didn't do any harm today—"

"Because he was drunk! He cast a spell at Cedric! Cedric isn't even involved in the matter—this is between Dad and me and Malfoy, but Cedric could've been hurt!" exclaimed Acquila heatedly.

Harry watched her, that anger simmering in him again. But it was a different anger, this – the Dark Mark wasn't in the sky anymore and his scar wasn't pricking at him. This was a different sort of rage, one that seemed unfamiliar to him (because he had never been this mad at her before) but one that was familiar too (because it was his own rage, born out of his own hurt and that other feeling he didn't want to name – _betrayal)._

Oh he knew that she was genuinely worried about Cedric. He knew that she didn't want anyone innocent to get caught in the crosshairs. She didn't want any more lives lost because of her; Mrs Smith and the orphanage children killed by Greyback and his pack still weighed heavily on her mind.

But Harry didn't quite want to think about that now. He was still mad, at Acquila, at the Dark Mark, and how everything had suddenly gone downhill, at how Sirius was worried and how Acquila had gone out with wouldn't have happened! None of this would've happened if Acquila hadn't been with Cedric! If she stayed put in their tent like Sirius told her to, none of this would've happened, the Dark Mark wouldn't have been glimmering in the sky now. He shut his eyes again, his rage seeming to take on a darker hue before his very eyes, his mind a jumble of emotions he couldn't quite separate, belonging to more than just him.

"Are you blaming me?" Acquila demanded suddenly, making Harry's eyes fly open.

"No, I'm not," he said, meeting her narrowed eyes, and he did mean it. "But you could've stayed in the tent like Sirius told you to. You could've listened to him for once."

"What do you mean by that?" she said. "Why are you behaving as if I'm responsible for this? I was just walking with Cedric. I didn't ask Malfoy to cast the bloody Dark Mark! I don't ask to get into trouble, alright? Don't sound like Dad now!"

"I'm not saying you deliberately get into trouble, Acquila. Come on, I know you can handle yourself," he said, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers now.

His rage was receding yet increasing. What was happening to him?

But she glared harder at him. "Do you? Do you really think I can handle myself?"

"Of course I do," he said, frowning.

"Then why the _hell_ were you thinking of that night with Greyback?" she demanded. "I felt you—I could sense you thinking of what happened in the Forbidden Forest, and your fear was affecting me too! I was frightened when I had no need to be—because _you_ were frightened! Because you thought I couldn't handle myself!"

Harry stared at her. "I _was_ frightened!" he exclaimed. "You were missing, the Dark Mark was in the sky—someone has been killed—of _course_ I was afraid! You know what Voldemort is capable of! I couldn't find you—I couldn't _sense_ you because you were blocking me—because you were off gallivanting with Cedric Diggory!"

Acquila stared at him now, speechless. "Is this what it is about? Cedric? Is that why you're mad at me?"

Harry held her gaze for a long moment, then looked away, rubbing his hand over his face. He didn't want to have this talk with her, not now. Nothing good would come out of it when both their tempers were so frayed.

"Don't walk away from this—tell me," she said.

He stared at her, letting out a strained chuckle. " _I'm_ walking away? You're the one who never wants to talk about anything! You're the one who _lied_ to me and went off with Cedric, holding his hand and refusing to leave him and come home—"

"I didn't _lie_ to you!" she exclaimed incredulously. "I _did_ go to meet Draco, I just met Cedric on the way, and he said he'd walk me to the Malfoy tent—"

"The Malfoy tent was right in the middle of the woods, was it?" The brusqueness of his own tone surprised Harry. Never had he spoken to Acquila this way, never had he been so furious with her, not even during the one and only fight they'd had in their first year of school.

His heart was racing again now, his breaths erratic; all he could see was red. All he could remember was all the times over the past few months that she'd been with Cedric Diggory.

"Harry—" she made to intervene.

But he went on. "So you just met Cedric coincidentally, huh? Like you did the night you sneaked out under my Invisibility Cloak to meet Malfoy in the Hospital Wing and met Cedric on the way back? Like the time you met him in Hogsmeade and he wanted to ask you out?"

"You're bringing up the Hogsmeade thing when _you_ took _Daphne Greengrass_ to Hogsmeade on a date?" Her pitch was a notch higher now.

"I did take her, but I didn't want to!" said Harry. "Astoria manipulated me into asking Daphne out! You know that—I even tried to explain, I said sorry to you—and you and I made up after that! We snogged, and we were sort of going out together, and after that I never once flirted with Daphne like you keep doing with Cedric!"

"I don't!" shot back Acquila, though there was something in the tone of her voice that gave her away.

"You can't lie to _me,_ Acquila," Harry sighed. "You know that. I know your thoughts as well as I know mine—"

"And that's the _bloody problem_!" Acquila exclaimed, her voice louder than it had been yet, something dark, something that was hitherto hidden rising unbidden in the depths of her eyes, in her voice, in her very heart – something that was foreign to Harry, something he never even knew she felt.

"I don't want to talk about this," she whispered, running a hand through her hair much like Sirius had done in the woods. "I don't want to talk about this," she repeated, making to leave, no doubt to go to her room and lock him out.

"Wait!" he said, grabbing her arm and holding her back. "You can't do this every time! You can't run away from this every damn time, Acquila!"

"Let go of me," she said harshly, pulling her arm from his grasp. "I told you I don't want to talk about this, not now—"

" _When_ then?" demanded Harry, suddenly more furious than he had ever been with her. "How long can you keep dragging this? How long will you keep me waiting and hoping?"

Something glittered in her eyes again, a memory floating in her mind, a sudden surge of guilt suffusing into it – Sirius, sitting beside her, his voice gentle as he said _don't keep Harry hanging like this, love…_ and then Acquila nodding, knowing he was right, but her thoughts going to the Soul Bond, a sense of irritation and sorrow seeping in now, the feeling of being helpless, being chained, feeling smaller and powerless—emotions he had never yet felt this strongly from her, the tiny link of a long chain of thought he had never once glimpsed in all the times he had found himself in her mind… and he grabbed on to it, his curiosity and the hurt he felt at her keeping these thoughts from him overpowering the niggling feeling that told him he was wrong, that he had no right to delve into her mind when she didn't want him to.

"Harry!" she cried, furious, knowing what he was doing, pushing him away from her mind.

But he wouldn't stop, he didn't want to stop; and with a burst of strength he didn't know he had, he pushed back, grabbing on to that chain of thought, grasping on to every dark and bitter link that led to another – how suffocated she felt when she felt his presence at the back of her mind, how afraid yet exhilarated she felt over the power she held over him, power enough to make his body transform, power enough to cast spells using his magic through his wand… how frightened she was that he could hold the same power over her if he wished to, that his emotions could overpower hers, leaving her powerless to fight them, like it had happened when she had been gushing over Fleur Delacour because Harry was… that feeling of awe when she saw him perform spells easily, more potent than his magic had ever been, that feeling of loss and insecurity when she saw her own magic paling when compared to his, that feeble stream of magic when she cast the Patronus charm in stark contrast to the strong spell Harry could cast, her inability to transform completely into her Eagle form when Harry had mastered his own transformation, feeling numb at the loss of magic within her when she faced Lucius Malfoy, her power a mere pale shadow of the magnificent force it had always been… unlike how Harry was getting more powerful by the day… the feeling that Harry was profiting from the Soul Bond at her expense, holding that invincible sort of power over her, his magic seeming to strengthen as much as hers was weakening, pulling on to her, dragging her down, clutching her so tight that she felt she couldn't breathe, couldn't escape its clutches, do anything to get away from it, from the Bond, from _Harry—_

"Stop it!" Acquila screamed, and before he knew it, Harry found himself flying away, hitting the floor harshly, his spectacles sliding off his nose, his knees buckling as he found himself sprawled on the floor.

Acquila stood where she was, shaken but still standing, her wand trembling in her hand.

She stared at Harry as he got to his feet, as wordless as he was. His mind was a conundrum – guilt and surprise and anger and pain— _terrible, terrible_ pain.

"Why?" she asked him hoarsely. "Why, Harry?"

He knew what she was asking him of course – _why did you do that? Why did you force yourself into my mind?_ – the questions were writ dark in her glimmering eyes, in the hurt and the fury in her features.

 _Sorry,_ he meant to say, but he couldn't say the words, he couldn't as much as look at her.

When he got to his feet shakily, silent, he found that he couldn't reach out to her mind anymore, not that he wanted to; he didn't want a glimpse of her thoughts again, not after what he had seen, not after what she had kept from him – the bitterness, the utter distaste she felt for him.

"Why?" he said instead of replying to her. _Why did you never tell me you felt this way? Why did you keep this hidden from me for so long?_ He wondered mutely.

"Don't you see?" she said now, making him meet her gaze. "Don't you _see_ why, Harry?" The question was a strangled chuckle.

"I didn't mean to pry—I didn't want to invade your mind like that—I just couldn't stop," he said, a dull ache within him that was increasing by the moment.

 _She doesn't want me,_ he thought, his extremities numb as what he had sensed in her thoughts finally sunk in… she would do anything to get away from the Bond, from Harry himself…

"You never told me," he said, his words a mere whisper. There was a lump in his throat now, one that was burgeoning by the moment. "You never told me that you felt this—this revulsion for me—"

"I don't!" she exclaimed, a glimmer of guilt and regret seeping into her fury now. "I love you, Harry, you know that!"

Another time she would have said this, and Harry's face would've broken into a smile; she would have come to him and kissed his cheek affectionately, entwining his fingers with hers.

But she didn't do that now. She stood where she was, a tear finally escaping her eye. She brushed it away, not before he felt the lump in his throat enlarging further.

"You don't," he whispered instead, "You don't want the Bond, you don't want me—"

"I _do_ want you, Harry!" she protested, her voice trembling now. "What you saw—in my thoughts… that was just—I didn't—" she stuttered, struggling for words.

 _When did we get to this,_ he wondered mutely, _since when do you need words to tell me what you think? Since when did I need to force myself into your mind to know what you feel? When did we get to this point, Acquila?_

"Tell me," he said earnestly, the dull ache inside him gathering steam now, his voice trembling as much as hers was. But he knew he had to say the words; he knew it was time.

"Tell me what you want from me," he said, wondering where he found the strength to get the words out, "we've kept this going on and on long enough, and it's time we decide."

"What do you mean?" she said, suddenly uneasy, though Harry knew she knew what he meant.

"I can't do this anymore, Acquila. Keep waiting for you, while you keep being conflicted about this. I love you, you know that." He repeated her words from earlier. "I have always loved you, since the time we became friends in school. I've—I've wanted you since long before we kissed in the secret passage—you _know_ that, Acquila… you've always known what I felt… you know I've always wanted to be with you, I still want that, more than anything—but I can't keep doing this forever, hoping and waiting for you, while you go off with Cedric Diggory—"

"That was nothing," she told him, stepping forward to clasp his hands in hers. "It—it's just that you're always around—around me, in my mind, at home and in school—Cedric just, he makes me feel different, he doesn't know about the Bond or about the G—Greyback thing, and I can just be myself—but that doesn't mean that I like him like I like you—" she faltered, "I love you, Harry."

"Be with me, then," he told her, "I want to be with you, like we were before all the Greyback thing happened. Let us be together, properly—"

"No," she said, his hands slipping from hers now. "Don't force me. I don't want to think of this now—I _don't_ want this now—you bloody pried into my mind when I told you not to, and you think we should—"

"I won't do that again! I _am_ sorry for that—"

"Then don't make me decide now—"

"The Bond _is_ going to remain!" Harry cut her off harshly. "Forever and ever! Until we die! No matter how much you want it to break, that's not going to happen! Even Sirius and Dumbledore know that! You're my soul mate, and I'm yours—the Soul Bond is going to be there always. And I don't mind that! I don't mind sharing my mind with you, or sharing my emotions with you. I don't have anything to hide from you, and I want you with all your—your stubbornness and your laughter and the times you get mad at silly things, and hum when you think no one's listening—"

" _But I don't_!" she exclaimed loudly, cutting him off. "I don't want you in my mind—I don't want to feel what you feel for Fleur and bloody Daphne Greengrass—I don't want you invading my mind against my will—I don't want to trip down staircases because I _enter_ your mind and feel like I'm on the Firebolt you're riding! I don't want to feel you thinking about what Greyback did to me—I don't want to sense the power that thrums through you when you cast the Patronus Charm when I can't feel any in _my_ magic! I don't want this, Harry! I don't want the bloody Bond! I don't want—" she stopped abruptly.

"Me," he finished for her, his voice shaky, his heart feeling like it had curled in on itself out of deep, infinite grief. "You don't want me."

"I didn't say that!" she protested, and he saw her blink back the sudden surge of tears. "I didn't say that, Harry—you know I could never not want you—"

"Then tell me you do," he said, his voice trembling again, the lump in his throat seeming to swallow his very voice as it expanded almost painfully. "Tell me what you want. Now. I can't take this anymore—"

"I can't!" she cried. "I can't choose! Don't make me! Please, Harry—you _know_ what you mean to me—"

"I don't mean enough for you to want me," he said in a whisper, "I see that now."

"Harry—" she protested, coming closer to him again.

But he backed away.

He knew what he had to do. She would never be able to decide, he knew that now, he knew that as well as he knew his own heart. He wanted her. He would do anything for her. But what she felt about the Soul Bond, about _him,_ would always make her hesitate… it would always mar what she felt for him.

"Harry, listen to me—" she said, the tears slipping freely now. She knew what he was going to do. She knew what he was going to say. She still knew him well enough to know that despite not being in his mind.

He looked at her, trying and failing to utter the words that would end it all, his hopes, his wait for one person he loved more than life itself.

His mouth opened, but the words wouldn't escape him.

He met her gaze and held it for a long time, her eyes teary, carrying an unfathomable sadness, and then slowly, her gaze hardening as she knew what his wordless silence meant.

She turned away from him.

He watched her for a long moment.

 _Why does my heart ache so?_ He wondered. _Why do I feel like nothing will be right again?_

He couldn't stay here, he knew. He wanted get away, anywhere, just away from her.

"Mopsy!" he called, his voice breaking.

The elf appeared immediately, her eyes huge as she saw them both.

He watched Acquila for a long moment, her back towards him, her hair fluttering gently in the soft breeze blowing in from the window.

 _Stop me,_ he thought, _tell me to stop and I will._

He didn't know whether she heard his thought; though he wished with all his heart that she did.

But she said nothing.

"Take me to Remus and Dora's house," he told the elf.

It was only when he caught a last glimpse of Acquila, still turned away from him, and felt the floor disappearing from under his feet, that he let the long held-back tears escape his grip on them.

 **oOo**

Her gaze roamed over the letters, the alphabets blurred one moment and clear the next as she blinked her eyes.

 _"_ _Of the Horcrux wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction —_ _"_ She read, words that she had read a dozen times since they had all begun their search for information on Horcruxes months ago. But the words made no sense to her.

There was a pounding in her head – the sort that came when you tried to hold in your tears too long, the sort that came when you agonised over something for hours on end, the one that came when you supressed a deep-rooted rage that made you feel like there was a flame-spewing dragon within you wanting to be let out.

 _He's gone,_ she thought, suddenly as sorrowed as she had been furious mere moments ago, tears pricking at her eyes again, _Harry is gone. I should have stopped him. I should have said something. I should have—_ She shook her head fiercely, blinking. It wasn't her fault. Harry had chosen to end whatever they had. Harry had chosen to disbelieve her, to force her to make a decision when she didn't want to decide. Harry had forced himself into her mind against her wish.

She could still remember it – the force with which he burst into her mind, picking the very thoughts she wanted to hide, the memories she wanted no one to know, the part of her mind that was hers and hers alone. But he had forced his way in, leaving her powerless to stop him, her magic weakening as his strength grew stronger, grasping and grasping at every new thread of thought until, with an effort that had seemed impossible to her, she had finally thrown him out of her mind.

She could feel the anger within her now, boiling and bubbling, waiting for an outlet, furious at what Harry had done, furious at her own impotence at stopping him, furious that he had gone…

She flung the book away in a fit of rage, watching it hit Grandfather Phineas right on his nose.

"You foolish girl!" Phineas roared from his portrait. "Where's your sense of respect for your forefather! You hit me—"

"You're not even alive!" she exclaimed, only to regret it the very next moment. She glanced at the portrait apologetically.

It wasn't fair to let her anger at Grandfather Phineas, even though the old man had annoyed her for the past few hours since—well, since _Harry left,_ she thought with a pang, remembering Harry's face, so pale and sorrowed as he struggled for words.

Phineas had gone on and on, tutting and snorting, clucking in disapproval at her visible grief.

 _You are a daughter of the House of Black, you foolish girl!_ He had told her, frowning in contempt. _How dare you cry over a puny half blood! And how dare you let_ him _walk away from you! You should have done the walking away! Oh, the shame of it all!_

He had railed at _the stupid boy who dared turn his back on the heiress to House Black_ and _the ungrateful boy who didn't even deserve the respect and affection Sirius showers on him._

She had had half a mind in the beginning to agree with Phineas, join him in complaining about Harry, to tell him what Harry had done.

But she couldn't. She would never admit how Harry had overpowered her. She would never admit how he had walked out on her, the words he had thought but not said, the way he had broken up whatever they had, without even listening to her side of it, without even giving her a chance to decide.

But to be honest, there was nothing to complain about Harry, was there? Harry was nothing of the villain Grandfather Phineas was painting him. Harry had been nothing but sweet to her always… kind and patient, understanding and the best friend anyone could ever have.

But she didn't want to think of that now. It only made her feel the loss more acutely, that hollow feeling within her, where perhaps Harry had dwelt all these years…

 _I won't think of that!_ She decided fiercely. Anger was better. She would prefer being angry any day than being sad and sorry for herself. She would rather rant at Harry that acknowledge that agony, that ache in her heart that made her feel like she'd been torn apart, never to be whole again…

"Come on now! Stop brooding!" Phineas barked at her. "You are a Black, for Salazar's sake—"

"I know, I know," she muttered hoarsely, "You've told me that like a dozen times."

Phineas only snorted, stroking his beard, and watching her carefully as if worried she'd burst into flames or something any moment.

She looked away from him, his gaze unnerving her. She stood up and retrieved the radio from the table, fiddling with the knobs until she found what she was looking for.

"— _sparking terror at the Final of the Quidditch World Cup! Eyewitnesses say Lucius Malfoy was arrested under the orders from Head Auror Scrimgeour. The Ministry has released an official statement saying there was no loss of life, questions still remain about the Dark Mark—"_

She listened to the reedy voice of the radio presenter go on and on. But there was no mention of Cedric or his wand, nor of her Dad who hadn't come back home yet even though it had been hours since the incident.

 _Cedric_ , she thought bitterly. If only she hadn't agreed to let him accompany him to Draco's tent—and _Draco_! She hadn't even got to talk to him. Just when he was coming to terms with lycanthropy, he would now have to deal with his father being arrested… everything was a mess now… every bloody thing.

But yet, she found she couldn't dwell much on Cedric or on Draco. How could she, when Harry was gone?

 _He broke up with me,_ she thought, still pained at the words he had never uttered but ones she had heard anyway.

 _I love him, I told him I love him,_ she remembered, that dull ache descending on to her swiftly again.

If only she had been able to stop him from delving into her mind… if only _he_ had decided to let her alone and not pry. They'd still have been together, then. Together as friends, as whatever they had been during since the Christmas Eve when they'd kissed.

 _How could he?_ She wondered brokenly. _How could he erase everything we had like this? How could he walk away when he knows what I feel for him?_

For one wild moment, she wanted to shut her eyes and reach out to him, to his mind, know what he was doing, know how he felt, know whether he was as upset with this as she was, know if there was a hollow space within him somewhere like there was one within her now, no doubt because of the Soul Bond.

But she didn't dare try to reach him. She didn't want to know whether that tangible link that existed between their minds had broken now? It surely felt so since the moment she threw him out of her mind, had him almost flung off his feet with the force that she had pushed him out. She couldn't feel his presence anywhere in her mind now, unlike how he'd always been there since the time she had possessed him in the Forbidden Forest.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

 _I should be happy,_ she told herself, _I don't want the Bond, I didn't want Harry in my mind all the time, I didn't want to hear his thoughts and feel what he felt and feel so suffocated all the time._ But now that Harry had left… she didn't want to complete that thought. It made her head pound harder, and it made her feel like her heart was constricting painfully in her chest… it made her want to let out the tears she had been holding in since Harry had gone.

"Sweet Salazar, you're just like your fool of a father, aren't you?" remarked Phineas snidely from the wall, "Brood and brood and brood all day over trivial matters."

"Harry isn't a trivial matter, alright?" she shot back, annoyed. "Harry's my best friend! He's my soul mate—you bloody know that!"

"But you didn't want the Soul Bond," pointed out Phineas. "I heard you screaming that out to him loud enough for me to hear it here."

"Yeah, more like you sent Kreacher to eavesdrop on our argument and give you minute-by-minute updates," she muttered, surprised to watch Phineas look away.

"You did! You sent Kreacher to spy on us!" she said.

"So what if I did, eh?" questioned Phineas, trying to sound his imperious self again. "You're the last of my House. The future of my bloodline lies with you, because your nincompoop of a father refuses to marry again and sire a son. Of course I wanted to know what was going on with you and the Potter brat—"

"I don't want to talk about it now," she muttered, feeling all at sea. One moment she wanted to scream and throw things around, the other moment she just wanted to fall onto her bed and cry her heart out.

"Erm, Acquila," said Phineas delicately, "You aren't going to cry or something, are you?" He looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if he preferred going to his hated portrait in Dumbledore's office than remain here and try to console a sobbing girl.

"I'm not," Acquila replied thickly, "I'm a Black and everything, like you keep telling me."

She had half a mind to cry, just to unnerve the old man. But she didn't… she wouldn't shed tears over Harry. It was his fault. It was _all_ Harry's fault! He was the one who didn't want to be with her, but he had made it sound as if she didn't love him enough! He had made her the bad guy, behaving as if she had deliberately gone out with Cedric, as if she had deliberately sought to hurt him, as if—but there was something pricking at her, that nagging feeling that it wasn't all Harry's fault, that she should have decided upon this months ago… her Dad had told her that she wasn't being fair to Harry, that she was sort of taking advantage of the fact that he fancied her, that she shouldn't have kept him hanging like that, refusing to give him an answer but still expecting him to be with her…

Perhaps, she shouldn't have kept everything inside her. Perhaps, she should have admitted to Harry all that he saw in her mind – the darkness, the powerlessness, the insecurity, the slight sense of envy, just _how_ deep her hatred of the Bond ran. If she had spoken to him about this, perhaps it wouldn't have all come spilling out like it had… perhaps they could have spoken about it properly, without it turning into an argument, without it leading to a break up—and suddenly, without warning, it all descended on her with the force of a terrifying, unstoppable avalanche, what she had been trying her best to avoid acknowledging since Harry had left the house: that she and Harry were _over…_ that things would never be the same between them again… that she would never feel his arms wrapped around her again without the act being tarred by hesitance and awkwardness, that she would never feel the sense of togetherness and joy he had _always_ given her without the words they had exchanged today putting huge, unbreakable barriers between them… that she would perhaps never have one of those silent wordless conversations that made them both smile, that she would never clasp his hand with the same sense of ease, that she would never muss up his hair with unbridled affection again, he would never kiss her cheek spontaneously when he thought she was being adorable—and she would never feel Harry's lips against hers again, gently and hesitantly at first, and then sending that thrill shooting her when he deepened the kiss, his breaths quick and fast, his hands dropping lower and lower from the small of her back…

She stood up in a daze, that hollow feeling seeming to spread throughout her as she imagined how it would be to never feel his heartbeats quickening as she kissed him, never to feel him thinking of her _that_ way, never to feel his hand in hers and that glimmer in his eyes when he looked at her, never to speak to him easily, be carefree and uninhibited around him…

And then, she was crying, those silent wracking sobs that had her breath hitching, feeling like she was struggling to breathe, feeling like all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry her eyes out… like nothing would ever be right again…

She could hear Phineas saying something from his portrait on the wall, Kreacher exclaiming something loudly in his croaky voice, and then, after what felt like ages, she felt warm arms around her, someone brushing her hair off her brow.

For one mad moment, she wished it was Harry. But it wasn't. It was her Dad.

"Acquila!" he said. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

"Dad," she cried hoarsely, wiping off her tears, as Sirius cupped her face in his rough hands.

"What happened, love?" Her Dad sounded panicked, shaken even. "Why are you crying?"

She only shook her head, her breaths still hitching, struggling for words to tell him what had happened.

"Is it because I yelled at you, sweetheart?" asked her Dad, "You know I was mad at everything that happened. I didn't mean to—"

"It—it's Harry, Dad!" she sobbed, feeling so foolish crying like this. But her Dad's arms around, the soothing words he was muttering made her feel it was quite alright to sob in front of him.

"What happened with Harry, love? Where is he?" Her Dad sounded concerned, and for more than just her now. She knew he had realised that Harry wasn't home if Acquila was here alone crying.

"He's gone, Dad," she whispered hoarsely. "He—he broke up with me—and went to Remus' place—it's all over, Dad. He doesn't want me—I— _I_ did this, Dad—he left me—"

"Oh, sweetheart," her Dad sighed softly, gathering her into his arms again; and as he held her tighter, she knew that perhaps, if there was one person who could set things right again, it was him.

 **oOo**

"I can't believe Acquila chose Diggory over you." Ron was red with fury. "You're her best friend—you're a Gryffindor! Just because Diggory's older and has pretty boy looks—how _could_ she leave you for that Hufflepuff!"

"Ron," said Harry quietly, "She didn't leave me for anyone. "We just fought, and broke up. Both of us just need some space, I think. She's not dating anyone else."

"You always see the best side of people, Harry." Ron shook his head in a very knowledgeable sort of way. "I'm telling you, Cedric stole her from you. That's why she broke up with you. This is his plan to extract all our Quidditch strategies from her! He knows he can't beat you at Seeking—"

"Where did Quidditch come from?" exclaimed Neville. "Not everything's connected to Quidditch, Ron."

"And Acquila didn't break up with me," Harry clarified, still finding it hard to even utter her name without that hollow feeling in his gut intensifying. "I did."

He still found that hard to believe, even now, three days after the break up. What wouldn't he give to go back to that night? To never utter those dratted words? To stop himself from walking away from her? To make _her_ stop him, tell him she wanted to be with him too.

"But you broke up with her because of her little excursion with Diggory, right?" went on Ron. "It _is_ Diggory and her fault."

"Ron," cut in Neville, thankfully saving Harry from having to reply. "Blaming Cedric will not make Harry feel any better. Let's talk about something else, alright?"

Ron nodded, looking a little sheepish now, while Neville clapped Harry on his back.

"I'm sorry, mate," said Ron, the tips of his ears red. "I got a bit carried away—"

"It's alright." Harry managed a smile.

Ron was better friends with Harry than with Acquila. Harry had quite expected him to blame Acquila and Diggory for the break up. Ron wasn't going to let this go so easily. But he knew Ron was only trying to cheer up Harry in his own way. Maybe Neville blamed Acquila too; but he would never voice it. Neville was more of a listener, the quiet and supportive friend who made things a little better just by lending a patient ear.

If only he could tell them about the Soul Bond… But that would mean potentially putting their lives at risk in future. He couldn't do that to his friends.

"Mmmm, these are delicious!" exclaimed Ron, stuffing a scone in his mouth.

"I'll have Mopsy make some more and send them to you with Hedwig," said Harry, glad for the change in topic.

"That'll be brilliant!" said Ron happily.

Hours later, Harry sat quietly at Remus and Dora's little window, watching the buses and cars whizz past on the street below. He'd thought he'd feel better after meeting Ron and Neville. But turned out that was only temporary. Now that his friends had gone, he felt lonely again.

If only he could turn back time and go back to that day… take back all he had said, tell Acquila that he didn't mean any of it and would gladly wait for her forever.

But that was foolish, he knew. What was done was done. _What I did was right, for both of us. She would never have come to a decision. This would have gone on and on…_

But would that have been so bad, he wondered. Would it have been so bad to still be whatever Acquila and he had been? He could have gone on like that. That was better than what he was feeling now – sad and regretful and missing her… missing her more than he had ever done.

They'd never really stayed apart from each other, and it was hurting him like hell, like some sort of a constant physical pain. _But I can't face her,_ he thought, _not now, not yet._

It had been the best thing to do – coming to Remus and Dora's place, staying away from Acquila for a while until he… well, until they both got their heads around what had happened, until what he had done finally sunk in, until— _damn,_ why was he still feeling so terrible about it all?

 _Whatever you did was right, Harry,_ Dora had told him that night, ruffling his hair affectionately.

But why was he in pain if it he had done the right thing?

 _Relationships can be hard as it is,_ Dora had said, _and this Bond business was only making things complicated for both of you. But now you've both got some breathing space, eh? That's what Acquila needs even though she won't admit you did the right thing. And that's what you need too, Harry. You've got an entire life ahead of you to get back with Acquila. For now, just be your age, have fun, go out with other girls… If Acquila was confused about you, you can't force her into something, can you? When she realizes she really likes you too, she'll come back to you, I'm sure. Until then, don't beat yourself up about it._

It had all made sense when Dora had spoken to him that day, mere hours after the break up.

But now, it seemed a feeble sort of reasoning that Dora had told him only to placate him because he'd been so upset that time. Why else would he feel so wretched about it all? He couldn't imagine not being with Acquila… what if she didn't want to be friends with him again? What if she was still mad at what he'd done – delving into her mind like that. He _hadn't_ meant to! He didn't mean to do that… but it had been so terrible – watching those strands of thought, so tantalisingly within his reach… he knew he shouldn't have, but it had been so tough to stop himself from— _Merlin!_ He felt wretched even thinking about it.

What if Acquila never forgave him for that? What if they never went back to being what they were?

 _But she didn't tell me,_ told a bitter voice in his mind, _she never told me what she felt about me… that she doesn't want me…_ Oh it hurt so much, the mere thought of her not wanting him.

 _Don't you see, Acquila?_ He thought, _don't you see that the Soul Bond didn't make me love you. I always loved you, long before the Bond. The Bond only heightened what I've felt for you, or why would it hurt so bad?_

But it was no use thinking of any of that now. It wasn't like she would hear him. He didn't know whether he wanted her to hear his thoughts… he didn't know if she even could. He was scared to reach out to her, frightened that it would only remind her of the way he had ripped through her mind that night…

But it had been so stunning and overwhelming – seeing what she thought, that she was almost envious of Harry's improved spell-casting, of his Animagus form, his Patronus spells, his strengthening magic.

 _She blames the Bond,_ he remembered, _she thinks it's all because of the Soul Bond that her magic is weakening while mine is growing powerful._ But that didn't make sense. It was Acquila who had set Lucius Malfoy on fire in the Ministry, it was she who helped save him from Voldemort in their first and second year with some of the most powerful displays of magic he had seen.

 _Then why couldn't she attack Lucius Malfoy in the woods that night?_ He wondered. He had sensed her thoughts, seen glimpses of her memories of trying and failing to attack Lucius Malfoy, felt the anger swirling within her but unable to whip up the power that she always could.

Maybe all she needed was a bit of confidence; that's what Sirius had once told him. _It's all in the mind._ Maybe Acquila couldn't do powerful magic because she had lost faith in herself… maybe that was all she needed. It wasn't because of the Bond. He refused to even consider that it could be because of the Soul Bond.

He rubbed his hand over his face, keeping his glasses aside.

He was doing it again, having flashbacks of all the wonderful times he'd had with her, and then of the fight that night. He had kept doing that since he had come to Remus and Dora's place - replaying the whole argument in his mind, imagining how it would have gone differently if they hadn't both said certain things.

 _It was the right thing to do,_ he told himself. He was tired of his fluctuating hopes, trying to draw a line between being her friend and her unofficial sort of boyfriend, of waiting and waiting for her to want them together, waiting for her to be his, to snog her, to take her out to Hogsmeade on a proper date.

 _I'll never do any of that now,_ he thought gloomily.

 _But at least you won't keep waiting in vain for it,_ pointed out the curt voice in his mind.

If only he hadn't lost his head on seeing Acquila with Diggory, if only Lucius Malfoy hadn't cast the Dark Mark, if only Harry's own head hadn't been pounding because of the prickling of his scar…

The scar! His _burning_ scar!

He stood up swiftly, stunned. How had he forgotten that? His scar had been burning that night… he hadn't told Sirius about it. Rushing to the spare bedroom, Harry retrieved the Two Way Mirror that Sirius had given him last evening.

Half an hour later, Sirius stood in front of Harry, seeming worried. "Your scar burnt that night? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I forgot all about it… I remembered right now, so I called you," said Harry.

"Good you did, kiddo." Sirius ruffled his hair, but he seemed unsettled.

"Do you think Voldemort was somewhere around us? Why else would my scar prickle? It only happens when he's around… like when he was in Quirrel and Ginny," mused Harry.

"I don't know," muttered Sirius, seeming deep in thought. "I'll look into it. But the next time it happens, tell Remus or me right away, alright?"

"I will," said Harry.

"How are you?" asked Sirius. Harry thought he still seemed worried, but he was trying to put on a smile. "I was going to come visit you after work. Remus and Dora are taking you out for dinner tonight."

That would be nice. He quite liked spending time with Remus and Dora when they came back home from the Ministry. Remus wasn't great at consoling him; but he took his mind off Acquila by teaching him nifty little spells from their Marauder days. Harry couldn't wait to get back to Grimmauld Place and try them with Acquila, until he remembered that she maybe wouldn't even want to do that anymore. It was fun being around Dora; she always knew exactly what to say without making the situation awkward or upsetting. She was pretty good at advice, and made Harry laugh at mealtimes with all the funny faces she made.

Going out for dinner with them both would be great, especially because Dora was terrible in the kitchen but always insisted on doing the cooking rather than let Mopsy or Remus do it.

"Will you come too? For dinner?" Harry asked Sirius. _Will Acquila come too,_ was his unspoken question. He didn't know whether he wanted her to come or not. He wanted to see her; he didn't want to see her to.

"I don't think we'll be coming, kiddo," said Sirius quietly. "But you have a good time, okay?"

Harry nodded, a little gloomy again.

"Oh, Prongslet," said Sirius softly, pulling Harry into a hug. He was too old for hugs, Harry knew, but he found that he didn't quite mind his godfather's embrace; it felt like a much-needed gesture.

"It'll all be alright, I promise you," said Sirius softly, when he finally let go of Harry.

"Is she—is she mad at me?" Harry asked him.

"Sometimes she is, sometimes she isn't. But she misses you."

Harry could've smiled at that. She did miss him, then, just like he was missing her.

"You did the right thing, kiddo," said Sirius. "Don't think too much about it, alright? When school begins, you'll be the best of friends again, I promise you that."

Harry nodded, relieved.

Somehow, speaking to Sirius always made him feel better. Granted Sirius didn't really talk much, and he seemed quite unused to handling such a situation. But his godfather was nothing but supportive, putting to rest Harry's fears that he'd be mad at him for upsetting Acquila and breaking up with her like that. It gladdened him that no matter what happened between Acquila and him, his dynamic with Sirius would never change and his godfather would always love him.

 **oOo**

"It's a funny little house," said Acquila, "And for lunch, Luna's dad served us some strange sort of roots!"

"Roots, huh? Did they taste good?" asked Sirius, glad that Acquila hadn't retreated into one of her sad, pensive spells. Though he had been surprised that she had asked to visit Luna Lovegood today, the visit to the strange little girl and her stranger father seemed to have taken Acquila's mind off Harry for the time being.

"It was alright," said Acquila, making a face, "Luna even made some weird sort of juice of Merlin knows what. I had it just because I didn't want her to feel bad or something. I mean, she has only a few friends. Everyone thinks she's weird… which she is," Acquila admitted. "But it was… nice, I guess, spending time with Luna. Her Dad publishes the Quibbler, you know?"

"I know," said Sirius, grinning. They often had a laugh over the Quibbler's many unintentionally hilarious articles during lunch time at the Auror office.

"Luna's dad wrote some funny article about Minister Fudge cooking goblins in large cauldrons," said Acquila, chuckling. For a moment, she didn't seem like the brooding girl she had been since the… well, the break up with Harry, for lack of a better term. "I saw the printing press too. It runs completely on magic, Dad! I tried to work out the spells that run it, but then Luna put on some weird music and started dancing and collided with the printing press, and these little fumes started coming out of it, and then Mr Lovegood ushered us both out of the room."

Sirius grinned again. He had heard quite a lot about the eccentric Xenophilius Lovegood from his colleagues at the Ministry.

"So, you had a good day, then," he said.

"Yes," replied Acquila. "I'm glad I went over to Luna's place. I mean… I have Hermione, of course, but she's… you know…" She trailed off, shrugging, her good mood suddenly gone.

"I know," he said quietly.

With most of her friends being as close to Harry as they were to her, Acquila was finding it a little difficult around them, Sirius knew. Hermione was her best friend after Harry, but the bushy-haired girl's close friendship with Harry no doubt made things a little awkward. Ron Weasley had already put himself into Harry's camp, as had Neville probably. Dora and Remus hadn't come over since Harry had gone to their place that day. So Sirius was glad Acquila had Luna Lovegood as a friend to count on. He still found it a little weird; he couldn't imagine Acquila having anything in common with Lovegood. But Acquila was like that – always making friends with the children others tended to leave out, whether it was Neville or Luna or even Draco Malfoy.

"How was _your_ day?" asked Acquila, trying to put on a bright face. "Is Scrimgeour still mad at you?"

"He is." Sirius sighed.

Punching Lucius Malfoy in front of a dozen Aurors and DMLE officers hadn't been the wisest thing to do. But once Sirius spotted the man who dared seek to harm Acquila, he hadn't been able to control his rage. That Malfoy had taunted Acquila about Edward and Marlene had only added to his fury, making him put all his strength into the fist he had rammed straight into Malfoy's jaw. That he had repeated the action a second time and made Malfoy's lip bleed had only added to Scrimgeour's outrage.

 _Keep your professional and personal life separate, Auror Black!_ Scrimgeour had shouted at him, half his colleagues watching. _When you are working for me, you are Auror Black, not Lord Black and whatnot. If you aren't capable of performing your duty without assaulting our suspects, you might as well tender your resignation this very moment._

"Scrimgeour isn't going to forget it anytime soon," Sirius told Acquila. "He's put me on some trivial case, with Robards of all people. We don't really get along…"

"I know," said Acquila. "Irene told me Robards thinks you've risen too high too soon in the Auror. He thinks your friendship with Minister Fudge is helping you get ahead in the Auror Force only though you joined it barely a year ago…"

" _Rejoined_ it," corrected Sirius. He got along well with most of his colleagues. But there was the odd Auror who was disgruntled with his rise in the Force. _They seem to forget I was an Auror during the War,_ he thought grimly, _I was dueling Voldemort when these kids were still in their diapers._

"Irene told you, huh?" he remarked to Acquila. He hadn't really spoken to Irene since he had shouted at her on the night of the Quidditch World Cup. It had been even longer since they'd had a romp in the sack. He couldn't deny he was missing that.

"Yeah, she did," said Acquila, sensing nothing amiss. "Anyway, you were telling me about your day…"

"I met Narcissa in the evening," Sirius told her.

"You went to Malfoy Manor? Did you meet Draco too? How is he? I have yet to send him my letter. Hedwig's gone…" Acquila trailed off, trying not to admit how much Hedwig flying off to be with Harry had saddened her.

Like their human friends, the children's magical pets, and even the house elves had taken sides after the break-up, it seemed. Nyx had taken to being with Acquila all the time, while Hedwig had decided to be with Harry. Sirius was sure Thunder and Calliope, the children's Winged Horses, too would take the side of their respective witch and wizard… just like Kreacher had taken to badmouthing Harry, while Mopsy had so easily agreed to stay with Harry at Remus' place instead of returning to Grimmauld Place (although that was after the elf had shed copious tears when Sirius had berated her about bringing Harry to the Quidditch stadium that night… even though, admittedly, it wasn't Mopsy's fault since Sirius himself had told her that Harry was her master as much as Sirius and Acquila were).

"Why don't you give your letter to Kreacher?" Sirius told Acquila, following her lead and acting like there was nothing wrong about Hedwig leaving Grimmauld Place without as much as a goodbye hoot to Acquila. "Kreacher will have it owled to Draco. Better yet, why don't I take you along with me when I go to meet Cissa next? I'm sure Draco wants to see you too, now that he's almost recovered from his transformation."

Acquila smiled, no doubt eager to meet Draco. "How's Aunt Narcissa?" She asked him a moment later.

"She's… well, she's not doing too well." Sirius sighed. "She's never had to be alone, you know. She lived a very sheltered life before her marriage. Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus brought her up in the typical pureblood manner… very conservatively. Cissa had none of Bellatrix's rebellious spirit, not Andy's independent streak. Even Lucius never involved her in anything, really. He took care of everything. Now that she knows Lucius might not be around for a long time, she's understandably worried. Not that she told me any of it, mind you. She just asked me whether I would try to get a reduced sentence for Lucius…"

It had been pathetic to watch – high and mighty Narcissa swallowing her pride and asking Sirius to help her husband. His cousin's entreaties had moved him; but there was nothing he could do.

It had taken him a day and a half to decide that Lucius was of no value to him after the stunt he'd pulled at the World Cup.

The Dark Mark had sent all of wizarding Britain into tizzy. The scale of the event during which Lucius had lost his bloody wits had ensured that news of the Dark Mark had spread world over within a couple of hours. The magical population had panicked, the Ministry had been severely criticized for its lapse in security for such a big event. The only solution had been to let go of Lucius, let him pay for his crime.

Admitting that Lucius had cast the Mark after a drunken altercation had been far better than letting the wizarding public at large and Fudge's political opponents spin yarns about Dark magic and the return of Voldemort and Death Eaters on the prowl again. It had been necessary to contain the damage caused to everyone – the Auror Force, the DMLE, the Ministry, the Minister himself. So Sirius, with a heavy heart at losing the one man whom he had repeatedly used to manipulate the former Death Eaters, had been forced to let Lucius get arrested, Cedric Diggory give his statement, and let the law – which was extremely strict on dealing with Dark Magic after the post-War amendments – take its course on the criminal in question.

Oh, it had made things tough for Sirius already. He had no clue what Lucius' Death Eater pals were thinking about his arrest for casting the Mark. He had no one working for him now, no one bringing him information, no one with the kind of influence that Lucius had on his friends. Perhaps, he could ask Snape – the very thought made him frown. But Snape wasn't really a part of pureblood society. All in all, Lucius' mad stunt had set back Sirius considerably in the quest to turn Voldemort's erstwhile adherents to his side – and that was giving him sleepless nights as he wondered how he could continue getting information on what the former Death Eaters were up to, especially if Voldemort or Barty Crouch Junior tried contacting any one of them.

"What did you tell Aunt Narcissa?" asked Acquila.

"That I can do nothing for Lucius," replied Sirius. "The matter's out of my hands now. I don't want to fight for a losing cause, especially when Lucius remaining out of prison will have bigger political repercussions. He's of no use to me now. And Azkaban is what he deserves—he should've been in there years ago…"

"So you're sure he will get sentenced to Azkaban? I mean, he didn't hurt anyone," said Acquila, though the mere mention of Lucius seemed to enrage her.

"He didn't harm anyone, but he used Dark Magic—the bloody Dark Mark at that. Nobody in the Wizengamot will let that slide. They'll make an example out of Lucius… have him serve as a deterrent for potential mischief mongers. Andy thinks he shall get three years at a minimum."

Acquila nodded, looking rather satisfied at that, before she looked at Sirius again, a little oddly now. "What else did you do today?"

"That's it," said Sirius, shrugging, "Asked a few questions around in Yorkshire… that case we're working on… met Cissa… oh, I had a talk with Fudge too… but I won't bore you with the details. The chap is paranoid about all the bad press he's been getting. And he's a little miffed that I wasn't around when the Dark Mark came up. I was supposed to be guarding him, but—"

"Dad!" Acquila cut in, with a mixture of vulnerability and indignance. "You know what I'm asking you… Did you meet _him_ today?"

"Who?" asked Sirius innocently.

Acquila huffed. "Harry, of course!"

"I did," said Sirius, trying not to smile. He knew this was what Acquila wanted to ask since the time she went on about _how was your day, Dad?_

For all that she seemed to be miffed with Harry, Sirius knew she was missing him, that she knew she was as much to blame for what had happened. But she wouldn't admit it, he knew.

"So, you did meet him, then," she said quietly. "What is he—well, how is he?"

"He's okay," said Sirius.

Well, Harry wasn't really okay. When Sirius met him in the morning, the boy had seemed much better than he did when Sirius paid him a visit the day after the break up or even on the day when he told him about his burning scar (which was something that frightened Sirius and gave him sleepless nights). But that didn't mean Harry was okay. But Sirius wasn't going to tell Acquila that. What Harry told him was between him and his godson alone.

"Is he—well, is he going to come back here?" asked Acquila, fiddling with the Snitch Victor Krum had signed for Harry.

"Do you miss him?" asked Sirius bluntly.

"No, I don't," muttered Acquila instantly. But when Sirius raised an eyebrow at her, she sighed. "I do. I do miss him, Dad."

"Come here, love," said Sirius gently, hugging the girl when she put her arms around him. He kissed her brow, yet again missing Athena acutely. She would have known what to do. Athena had always been good at this… helping sort out Lily and James' rare but volatile spats, being all understanding and sympathetic and practical, whatever such emotional situations demanded. While he had had break ups of his own, usually ones of his own violation, he'd never been attached to the girls yet alone have a Soul Bond with them like Harry and Acquila did.

"Look," he told Acquila finally.

"If you're going to say _I told you so,_ I don't want to hear it," muttered Acquila.

"I wasn't going to say that," replied Sirius. "But you know I was right. I'd told you to decide about Harry, to not keep him hoping and waiting. You didn't… so he decided instead—"

"But—"

"No buts, love. Just listen to what I have to say," said Sirius. "I don't know what happened and what you spoke that day… neither of you have told me everything yet. But look, you always said you wanted to get rid of the Bond. You always thought Harry and you fancied each other because the Bond made you feel so…"

Acquila frowned, looking sad yet defiant again. Then she nodded mutely.

"Now that both of you are not together anymore… you might as well try to live your life normally, like you would have if there was no Bond. I know it'll be tough… I know you'll still hear Harry in your mind and know how he's feeling. But you're so young, darling. You're just fourteen. Go out, do everything that teenagers do, be young and foolish and everything. Look, Harry's still going to be your friend—"

"But it won't be the same, Dad. It'll never be the same. He doesn't even want to talk to me. He doesn't even want to come back home," she said in a small voice that belied the firm face she had been putting on recently.

"Just give him some time. You _both_ need some time. You hurt him—he's hurt you too," he added hastily at the mutinous yet guilty look on her face. "It will all be fine, I promise."

She nodded mutely again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked her quietly, knowing already that she wouldn't.

 _Why is our daughter so much like me, Athena?_ Sirius wondered. _Why couldn't she be like you?_

But there was no denying he loved Acquila for it, for all her mulishness and her silences and her refusal to admit her faults sometimes. That was how he had been too, probably still was.

"Do you want me to beat up Harry?" he asked her. "I think I'm supposed to, seeing he made my little girl cry."

"You love Harry too much to even think of beating him up," said Acquila, though she was smiling now, like he had wanted her to.

"I would've totally punched him if it was another guy, though," said Sirius, as Acquila chuckled lightly.

He kissed her cheek. "Do you want to go out for a movie or something? Or we could go out for ice cream… that Muggle place you like…"

But Acquila shook her head. "No… I think I'll just go to bed. I've to give my statement at Malfoy's trial too tomorrow. I'll sleep early tonight."

"You sure?" asked Sirius. He knew she wouldn't sleep. She'd probably lie in bed tossing and turning, thinking and brooding, blaming Harry one minute and herself the next.

"Yes. Good night, Dad," she told him, climbing up the staircase to her room.

Sirius watched her until she disappeared from his sight.

This was all very tough on her, she knew. Harry had been her best friend, always. He knew she was afraid things between her and Harry would never be the same again. They would go back to the being the awkward, hesitant pair they'd been a few months ago.

Why did everything have to go wrong? With Crouch still at large, that eerie feeling he'd got at the burnt-down Riddle Manor, the missing Morfin Gaunt, the Dark Mark, Harry's scar hurting that night, having to sacrifice Lucius to contain the political fallout, the lack of leads about the remaining Hocruxes… now the kids breaking up and Harry leaving Grimmauld Place. What wouldn't he give for a few hours of peace?

He would go meet Harry tomorrow; talk to him about returning back to Grimmauld Place. The kids would need to talk, patch up with each other before they went back to Hogwarts. Maybe once they came face to face and sat down and talked, things would be better between them again. He doubted they would be together romantically any time soon. But they needed to be friends again. After all, they were the only two people who knew what the other felt. They had always confided in each other, the Bond had only added to their closeness. They would need each other, now and in future, always. While it was easier for them to stay apart and avoid the elephant in the room for now, the more they avoided the imminent conversation, the tougher it would get to talk about it when they finally did meet. He would meet Harry soon, and bring him back home. Plus he really missed the boy. He wanted to spend time with both the children before the school year began… he wanted to see them grinning and laughing like they did during the trip to France.

 _If only we could have stayed back in France,_ he thought, knowing it was a childish thought, but sighing when he remembered the time the three of them had spent there.

He stood up, summoning a glass and a bottle of Firewhiskey from the nearby cupboard. He needed a drink… just to take his mind off everything.

But something held him back… perhaps it was the memory of a drunken Lucius slurring when the Aurors arrested him.

He knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. And it wasn't the Firewhiskey.

He put the bottle away again, and went to Acquila's room.

Expectedly, she was awake, stroking Nyx's fur as the Kneazle mewed softly.

"I'm going to—" he paused abruptly. Acquila would definitely think there was something amiss if he told her he was going to visit Irene at this time of the night when he could just as easily meet her at the Auror Office or anytime during the day. He had to lie to Acquila again. He didn't want her knowing about him and Irene when there was nothing serious to it.

"Something's come up at the Ministry," he told Acquila instead. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, alright? Don't wait up for me."

"Okay, Dad," said Acquila, smiling softly. "Be careful out there."

Sirius felt a pang of guilt, but he brushed it off by the time he was out of the main door and in the warm night outside.

Minutes later, he was on Irene's front porch, knocking at the door.

He was nervous this time, but he didn't quite know why. Irene and he hadn't argued as such, but he knew she was miffed that he had told her to stay out of how he should deal with Acquila. Agreed he _still_ didn't want Irene interfering in his personal life (what they had was a no strings attached physical relationship), he felt he perhaps shouldn't have shouted at her with the children and Cedric Diggory looking on. Merlin, she couldn't still be mad about that, could she?

Moments later, Irene opened the door. She was wearing a loose shirt and faded pajamas, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. But he decided she looked rather hot, especially when she folded her arms against her chest and raised an eyebrow at him. Great Godric, how long had it been since he had shagged her? For a moment, he wanted nothing better than to pull the door shut behind him, drag her to that fluffy bed of hers and have her until she was calling out his name, sharp nails digging into his back as he nipped at her lips.

"You randy git!" she exclaimed suddenly, her lips twitching, "You know I know what you're thinking, right?"

Sirius only chuckled, glad that she wasn't mad at him or something. It was so tough to tell; he wasn't really used to getting so close to a witch who wasn't family.

"Won't you invite me in?" he asked her.

She glared at him, then huffed, then opened the door wider for him.

"So, what brings Lord Black here?" she asked him, her tone a little sharp, throwing a bottle of Muggle beer at him.

"Come on. Are you mad at me for that night?" Sirius frowned. "Because I was worried and panicked, and I—"

"Aww, are you apologising to me, Sirius?" Irene asked him, smirking.

"'Course I'm not," he huffed, downing half the beer in one gulp. "Why should I, huh? My daughter _is_ none of your concern, really," he pointed out, a little nervously.

Merlin, she wouldn't be offended or something by that, would she? After all, Acquila was a friend to Irene. But then how he dealt with daughter was really none of Irene's business. Irene and he were just friends who shagged sometimes; they weren't dating or something. And they'd decided this was a purely physical thing…

"Look at you," said Irene, chuckling now, "Being all uncertain and adorable."

"Nobody's ever called me adorable." Sirius grimaced, feeling suddenly lighter at her teasing tone. "Hot, yes. Sexy, yes. But never adorable."

"Well, there's always a first, isn't there?" Irene smirked. "Anyway, I know I have no business telling you how to handle your children. Even if I did advise you, I'd probably mess it up. I've never really dealt with kids, even grown up ones like Acquila and Harry. Plus they always keep getting into too much trouble, eh? I don't really envy the kind of mess you have on your hands."

"Oh, they're not so bad," he pointed out, smiling. "And as Harry keeps saying, they don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds them. It's not their fault, really…"

Irene grinned at him. "Anyway, how are they both? Dora told me about the… well, the situation."

"Godric! That girl just can't keep her mouth shut, can she? Don't tell me Harry breaking up with Acquila's is the hottest topic for gossip during lunchtimes."

"Dora only told me, and I didn't blab about it, or I'm sure Riley would've come around asking for all the updates," said Irene. "Despite all the trouble your kids have got the Force into, we're all rather fond of them."

"I know," said Sirius, smiling again.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Irene. She wasn't smiling anymore.

"I asked Acquila the very same question earlier, you know?" he said quietly.

"And like you, she said no, did she?" said Irene.

"Yes." Sirius sighed. "I don't really know how to deal with this."

"You know you can talk to me, right? I was your friend long before we started this…" Irene made some sort of a hand gesture for whatever they had going on between them.

"I know." He smiled. Irene was his friend… one of the closest ones, to be honest. "I don't know," he bit out. "I mean, I got home after that big spat with Scrimgeour and that long talk with Fudge that day, and Acquila was just… sitting in the study, sobbing. Harry wasn't home—I don't know…" He trailed off, unused to talking openly about what worried him.

"They'll be fine," said Irene, squeezing his hand. "We've all gone through similar things in our teenage years, haven't we? Break ups and heartbreaks. Eventually, it all falls into place."

Sirius smiled tightly. Talking to Irene wasn't really helping because she knew nothing about the Soul Bond. Nobody knew why this break up thing was all so complicated.

 _If only you'd been here, Athena,_ he found himself thinking again. It was strange how nowadays he missed Athena for the wonderful mother he knew she would've been to Acquila than the wonderful wife she had been to him. Sometimes, he'd even caught himself imagining how Athena would've have dealt with certain situations. But lately, he had been forgetting how Athena's voice sounded, how her favorite perfume smelt on her warm skin, how her eyes would light up when he came back home from a long day at work.

"You're quiet again," Irene told him. She leant forward, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"What was that for?" He asked her, grinning now.

"You're a good man, Sirius Black," said Irene. "Annoying and a pain in the arse at times, but you're a good man."

"So I take it you've forgiven me, eh?" He asked her, smirking. "Since you thought I had some apologising to do and everything…"

"Well, you were rude to me. I'm your colleague… you can't yell at me like that in front of people, even if you're stressed or something."

"I know," he sighed. "I _am_ sorry for that. You know how I get when I'm mad about something."

"Yeah, we all saw what you did to Lucius Malfoy," laughed Irene. "Even though he deserved it. Remind me never to piss you off."

"I can't be mad at you for long. Nor can you be mad at me, eh?" He winked. "Here I came expecting you to be all miffed with me, but you're planting kisses on my cheek."

"Well, you did notice I didn't kiss you _elsewhere_ , huh?" said Irene, her eyes twinkling. "You're going to have quite some work to do for that. I've not yet forgiven you completely."

"Quite some work, is it?" said Sirius, grinning at her mischievously, wondering how long it would take to get her out of her clothes and on top of him. "Come here."

He clasped her hand and pulled her towards him, grinning like a fool when she straddled him.

"You're such a dog, Sirius Black!" she exclaimed, slapping his arm, though he could see the glint of desire in her eyes and feel her grinding against him. "You're not getting any tonight."

"About the dog part you're right," said Sirius, his fingers already slipping under her shirt to caress the warm skin underneath. "As for not getting any tonight, you're about to realise just how wrong you are about that, Summerby."

"Oh, we'll see," she said challengingly, her voice husky now, but she her hands were already at the nape of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

 **oOo**

The manor was quiet, eerily so.

Oh, it had never been a loud place like say, Grimmauld Place or Black Manor where Narcissa and her sisters and her two cousins had played together what seemed like a hundred years ago. Malfoy Manor had never been filled with the sound of laughing children and a screaming Aunt Walburga and a muttering Kreacher. It had always been a quiet place, with only the occasional calls of the peacocks and Dobby tinkering around in the kitchen, the wind whooshing in through the tall open windows, and Draco's voice occasionally floating in from his room when his friends came over. Yet, Malfoy Manor had never seemed as silent as it did now, nor as _empty_.

Quieter than the manor itself was the boy sitting by her side, her son, seeming suddenly older than his fourteen years. She watched him go through the letters lying on the desk, his brow creased, his shoulders hunched, his eyes never resting on the words long enough to read them.

She watched him for a long, long moment, before she called out to him softly.

"Draco."

He looked up at her, startled out of his thoughts, sitting up suddenly straighter now. There were dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks a little sunken; the scars Greyback had given him a little darker on his pale skin.

"Theodore Nott and his wife want to meet you, Mother," he said before Narcissa could speak, folding a letter with the Nott seal neatly. "I shall write to them that we are not receiving any visitors as yet."

Draco sounded grown up now, composed and in command, _like Lucius would have been in his place,_ Narcissa thought. Her son seemed to have grown up overnight since Amelia Bones pronounced Lucius' Azkaban sentence in that cold, stony courtroom in the Ministry.

 _You will be the Head of our House someday,_ Lucius had told Draco before he was taken away in chains, _do not let me down. Take care of your Mother, and remember that the future of our House, our bloodlines, our heritage, it all lies with you._

Her son seemed to have taken his father's words to heart. She had seen him going over some of the Gringotts documents that lay in Lucius' study, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the legal terms and the many galleons that lay in various investments. She had watched him spend hours at night talking to some of the portraits of his Malfoy forefathers, no doubt trying to be capable of the role he had been suddenly thrust into. But for all that Draco was trying to be the man of the house, Narcissa could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the uncertainty in his fidgeting hands.

" _I_ will write to them, darling. You don't need to worry," she said, thinking of all the letters that needed replying.

With Lucius in Azkaban, there had been a steady stream of owls coming to Malfoy Manor from his erstwhile Death Eater friends. Oh, Nott and the rest were never direct in their letters; they were perhaps worried that the Ministry was keeping tabs on the correspondence that came into Lucius Malfoy's house. But the letters implied subtly what the writers sought to know: how was Narcissa, how was Draco dealing with it all, how was _Lucius,_ had she met him after his incarceration, was he in good health, could they perhaps come over to be of support to their dear friend's beleaguered wife and son. She knew they couldn't bother less about what happened to Draco and her; they only wanted to know _why_ Lucius had done what he did, what prompted him to cast the Dark Mark in an area secured by every damn Auror there was… was he in contact with the Dark Lord? Did Lucius do that on the Dark Lord's bidding? Was the Dark Lord really alive? How could the usually level-headed Lucius Malfoy, who had managed to stay out of Azkaban after the War, do something so foolhardy that had landed him five years with the Dementors, unless there was some firm, underlying motive for what he did?

 _Let them worry,_ Narcissa thought viciously, _let them keep wondering and waiting for my replies. I shall tell them nothing…_ not that she knew anything, mind you. Lucius had been tight-lipped about it all even when she had lost her cool, uncharacteristically railing at him for having plunged them all, for the second time, deeper into the abyss from which there was no return. Lucius had remained silent, eyes downcast and full of mute pleading before they rose them to meet her furious gaze. He had told her nothing in the few minutes that she'd got alone with him – a small mercy granted to her because of her all-powerful cousin.

"Mother?" Draco's voice roused her from her memories, his face pale and joyless.

Salazar, what a pair they were, her son and her – both spending their nights sleepless, their days quiet and brooding, in this huge manor that seemed as lonely as them… all because of Lucius' foolishness, his utter stupidity… _Or was it my fault,_ she wondered silently. The signs had all been there – Lucius' excessive drinking, his unusual silences, the way he had slipped into a shell from which she had never even tried to pull him out.

 _No,_ she told herself sternly. _It wasn't my fault. What Lucius did was his own fault. I will not blame myself for his sins._

A loud knock at the door downstairs made her shake off her morbidity. She felt a warmth thrumming through her; the wards protecting Malfoy Manor were linked to _her_ magic now, with Lucius in prison. She knew the visitors weren't dangerous… they were friends… _family._

"It must be Acquila, Mother!" said Draco. He was smiling widely now, very different from how sorrowed he had been moments ago.

"Go on, dear," Narcissa told him, feeling glad yet strangely bitter at how the girl merely knocking at the door could pull her son out of his misery. "Go on, I shall come shortly. I have some work to take care off."

"Alright," said Draco, keeping the letters away as he almost skipped out of the room, eager to see the girl Narcissa had once dreamt of getting him wedded to.

Thisis _my fault,_ she admitted, _I put thoughts of Acquila Black into Draco's mind, I made him think of her as the girl he would spend his life with._

While Narcissa had sown the seed, Acquila's caring nature and her affection for Draco had only made it sprout and blossom into something that would only die a withering death when her son realised that Acquila didn't quite feel for him what he did for her. _It will break his heart,_ she thought, _it will kill whatever joy there's left in him._

Lucius would have sneered at her thoughts. _He is a Malfoy. He isn't meant to pine over a daughter of blood traitors,_ he would've said. But Lucius was gone now. And she could admit to herself that for all that Draco was young and had years left in which he could find other girls to wed, no one would quite take Acquila's place in her heart. Her son was, perhaps, like Sirius in that sense – he loved only a very few people, but he loved them loyally, fiercely, irreversibly.

But that was a heartbreak that would hopefully have _many_ years to go before it descended on her son. Until then, she wouldn't begrudge Draco any joy that he found in her cousin's daughter.

She looked around the room again, a heavy weariness creeping over her, hearing Draco's happy voice from the room downstairs. But she found that she couldn't quite find similar happiness in the study, surrounded by Lucius' memories. She could imagine him sitting at this very desk, long fingers sifting deftly through the many parchments that lay scattered there.

Salazar! How quiet and empty the manor felt despite how she could hear Draco and Acquila's voices breaking the erstwhile silence.

It was strange how the manor that had been her home for more than two decades didn't feel like home anymore. It was stranger how she felt so despite how things between Lucius and her had steadily gone south in the past couple of years. And it was even stranger how she now found herself in charge of everything that had belonged to her husband until last week.

Narcissa allowed herself a tired sigh as she picked up the topmost letter from the haphazard stack, her eyes falling on the newspaper lying next to the letters.

 _DRUNKEN MISTAKE OR MINISTRY COVER-UP?_

 _Now that Lucius Malfoy has been sentenced to five years in Azkaban for casting the Dark Mark on the night of the Quidditch World Cup final, in what he claims was an act committed in an inebriated state, murmurs are rising in Ministry circles about what exactly happened that night._ Rita Skeeter _delves deeper into the mystery of the infamous incident that sent a bolt of terror down the spine of everyone who survived the War._

 _A former Ministry employee, who was one of Minister Fudge's close associates until she stepped down recently, claims that there is more to the Dark Mark than meets the eye._

" _The Dark Mark always stood for death. For the Ministry to claim that there was no casualty and loss of life that night seems preposterous to me given the history of the Dark Mark since the time of You Know Who's rise to power."_

 _On further prodding, the former Ministry employee goes on to say, "Some of my former colleagues suggest that Lord Sirius Black was involved in quite pulling of strings behind the scenes. It is known in Ministry circles that Minister Fudge is Minister only in name, and it is Lord Black who truly wields power. Given his well-known animosity with Lucius Malfoy, it isn't too farfetched to see Lord Black's hand in Malfoy's conviction and the harsh sentence handed out to him."_

Narcissa put the newspaper away, sighing. She wouldn't usually have read the _Wizarding Times,_ but with Lucius in Azkaban for the next three years, she knew it was she who would have to keep abreast with everything that went on in the wizarding world, even if it included the nonsense peddled by Rita Skeeter.

It was obviously Dolores Umbridge who was giving out newsbytes to the Skeeter woman. Given that Umbridge's fall from grace that had been single-handedly engineered by Sirius, Narcissa wasn't surprised at the bile the woman was pouring out against her cousin.

Perhaps she should have been glad that Umbridge's remarks were casting some doubt on Lucius' guilt in the Dark Mark matter. But that didn't really make much of a difference to her now. Lucius _was_ guilty; he had admitted to his crime. Nothing could help him now. He had sealed his own fate with his carelessness. For all that a part of her ached thinking of him in Azkaban and what the prison and the Dementors would do to him, she knew she had Draco to think of.

Breathing deeply, she unlocked a little drawer beneath Lucius' table with a flick of her wand. She took the parchment that lay within, her hand trembling slightly, and laid them out on the table, her eyes moving over every word that granted her power over everything that belonged to House Malfoy.

Her glance rested for a long moment on Lucius' signature that lay etched on the end of the parchment. Was the _Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_ a little less elegant than usual, or was it just because she knew he had signed the document moments before he was led away to Azkaban? She rubbed a tired hand over her face.

 _I trust you with everything, Cissa,_ he had told her outside the courtroom, as the DMLE officers waited to clasp him in chains. _I trust you with our son, the House of Malfoy, with everything that my forefathers earned and gained over centuries. Keep it all safe until I am back, Cissa,_ he had told her; and if she shut her eyes, she could still see him – pale-faced, with unkempt hair, his face stoic, but those eyes conveying all he would never betray in front of the waiting DMLE wizards, his hand clammy and trembling as he clasped hers.

She shut her eyes for a long moment.

For all that they had been estranged over the past few months, Lucius was still the father of her child, her husband, the one man she loved with all her heart. It wasn't easy thinking of him rotting in Azkaban… the powerful Malfoy patriarch that he had been, now surrounded by Dementors in that frightening prison, a giant of a man who had fallen from grace, never to rise again…

 _I trust you with everything I have, Cissa_ , his words rang out loud in her ears again, as she remembered his lips brushing against hers one last time before the DMLE whisked him away, his profile tall and unbent, but his eyes containing a desperate fear that only his wife could see.

 _But that is done with now_ , she thought, finally opening her eyes.

It wouldn't do to dwell on Lucius or on what he wanted for their House. The only thing that mattered to her was Draco's life.

Opening another drawer – this one she'd locked more securely – she retrieved a bunch of parchments from it. She had read through them a dozen times already, gone over every single word, spent sleepless nights dwelling on the prudence of what she meant to do.

It was difficult, this... taking such decisions all on her own, especially one with such far-reaching consequences. There was still the niggling doubt in her mind; Lucius would rather have died than agree for this. Draco, too, would never see the desperation that had made her choose this course. He would never agree with her; he would rail and rant and argue that she shouldn't do this, she _couldn't_ do this.

But that didn't matter now, what her husband and son thought. She was all alone now, with Lucius and his secure presence lost to her perhaps forever. Only Sirius had ever escaped Azkaban with his wits substantially intact. She didn't think her husband had the strength of mind for that. And that only meant she had complete charge of House Malfoy for the next five years until Draco came of age. She had to make the most of it, do all she could do to protect her only child.

Keeping the parchments on her desk, she stood up, smoothing the creases in her robes and drawing herself to her full height.

He was waiting downstairs for her, she knew… her dear cousin, who always came to drop Acquila to the manor.

She descended the steps, putting on a soft smile as she came into Sirius' and the two children's view.

She looked at Acquila first. There was something different about the girl since the night of the Quidditch World Cup final, Narcissa had noticed… something that made her look older, grown up, with a sense of sadness always lingering around her despite the smiles and laughter she showered Draco with. She had seen it even in the courtroom during Lucius' trial. The girl looked more gloomy than furious or triumphant at Lucius' conviction.

"Hello, Aunt Narcissa," said Acquila softly.

There was none of the warmth in her voice that the girl showed to Andromeda. Narcissa could quite understand that. If she was in the girl's place, she doubted she could ever have had any sort of fondness for the wife of the man who murdered her grandfather, tortured her aunt, tried to kill her best friend, and gloated about killing her mother's family as he cast the Dark Mark in the sky. That the girl didn't let her hatred for Lucius extend to Draco was in itself a commendable thing.

"Hello, Acquila," Narcissa replied, smiling politely at the girl before she turned to Sirius.

Unlike his daughter, there was no such lack of emotion in Sirius' greeting for her. Her tall cousin kissed her on her cheek affectionately, clasping her hand.

"How have you been, Cissy?" Sirius asked her, his voice deep as always with a tint of genuine concern to it.

"I am as good as someone in my place could be, I suppose," she replied, watching Sirius' frown a little.

Giving in to self-pity was utterly unlike her; but Narcissa knew that was what she needed to portray to convince her cousin to accept what she sought to entrust him with. He was a good man when it came to his family, this cousin of hers.

"Cissy," Sirius said softly; and Narcissa didn't miss how Draco's eyes flitted between the two of them.

"I want to talk to you, Sirius," Narcissa told him quietly, watching Draco frown.

"Of course, Cissy," Sirius replied, taking her arm as she led him to the study. She could feel Draco's eyes on them until they walked all the way up the stairs.

 _Oh Draco,_ she thought, knowing how her son would resent what she was going to do. _But I am doing this all for you, my son. I will do anything to keep you safe._

"You seem troubled, Cissy," said Sirius when he sat down before her. Her cousin seemed uncomfortable in the study with the Malfoy crest on the tall chairs and the tapestries on the walls, with the many things that made it evident the room belonged to Lucius Malfoy.

"I _am_ troubled," she said, wondering whether she should have chosen another place for this discussion, something that would give Sirius a sense of being in power than the other way around. But there was nothing to be done about that now.

"What's wrong, Narcissa?" asked Sirius. He looked genuinely concerned, her dark-haired cousin. He had been just as concerned when she had pleaded with him for Lucius. But that was a memory she didn't like dwelling on, how powerless she had been, how she had resorted to literally begging to her cousin for her husband's life…

She breathed in deeply, suddenly deciding to change her mind about how to go about telling Sirius about what she wanted from him.

She took another deep breath, and then laid the parchments before him.

"What is this?" he asked her, looking bewildered and then wary.

"Read it," she told him quietly.

She watched him, a look of puzzlement flitting across his features, then suspicion and something else that she didn't get time to figure out with how quickly he schooled his expression into a blank one. Oh, he was getting better at this, this man who nobody ever thought would take up the mantle of Lord Black as well as he had.

Finally, he kept the parchments aside, watching her quietly.

She waited for him to say something, but he was silent.

Unsettled, it was Narcissa who spoke now. "I want for you to be the Protector of House Malfoy, all our wealth and our estates, everything that we have."

"I read that," said Sirius quietly; there was none of that earlier sense of affection now, but more of shrewdness, thoughtfulness. She could literally see the wheels turning in his mind.

"Lucius gave me charge of everything until Draco come of age. But I want you to take charge of it. I trust you, Sirius," she told him.

Sirius watched her silently for a long while, making her want to fidget like Draco had been doing earlier.

What was going on in that mind of his? If it was Andromeda, she would have seen right through Narcissa and known the reason why she was doing. But with Sirius, she wasn't sure the man was that shrewd enough to know her real motives.

"You do realise that if I accept this, I make all the decisions regarding all of the wealth, the properties, everything that will belong to Draco three years down the line?" asked Sirius finally, still watching her with that gaze that made her think twice before she decided what to say.

"I do," she told him. "I drafted the deed myself—"

"With some help from Nathan Rosier?" asked Sirius shrewdly.

A little startled at how he had realised that, Narcissa nodded. "I went to him for advice," she admitted. "He is a first cousin to both Lucius and me, and he has studied a lot of pureblood laws, as you no doubt know. Who else could I turn to?"

Sirius sighed, a flicker of hurt flitting across his sharp features now. He seemed to hesitate, then reached over to clasp her hand. "You could have spoken to me. You could have told me the real reason for this instead of going through all this. Despite all that has gone on between our families, Cissy, you know I care for you. You are like a sister to me, like Andy is. I shall always protect you, Cissy. Draco and you both."

"You couldn't protect Draco, though," she told him, aghast at how her voice was trembling now. "You couldn't protect him, _nobody_ could once the Dark Lord decided to make him a target to get back at Lucius. Nobody can keep Draco safe if the Dark Lord decides to harm him again—"

"Cissy—" Sirius made to intervene, pained and annoyed at the same time, though he seemed at a loss of words. For all that he claimed to be nothing like his family, Sirius was quite like Grandfather Arcturus and Uncle Orion – always at sea when it came to dealing with upset women.

Narcissa went on. "With Lucius in Azkaban—and he will probably lose his wits by the time he is out of prison, Draco will be the owner of everything that belongs to House Malfoy… all the wealth, all the power, no matter how we have fallen from grace, the name Malfoy still commands a lot of respect and power in pureblood circles. And the Dark Lord—he _will_ want that, Sirius. He will want Draco to atone for Lucius' mistakes, he will want Draco to join him, to bring all that we have along with him—and if Draco refuses…" she trailed off, not needing any effort to let the tears gather in her eyes now. It had been so long since she had someone to talk to, someone to admit all her fears for her son's life, someone to confide in.

Lucius' first mistake had led to the Dark Lord having him bitten by Fenrir Greyback, turning him into a werewolf. She couldn't let the wizard harm her son again. She couldn't lose Draco… the boy was all that mattered to her with Lucius lost. Draco was her life, her entire world, and she would do anything for him, even surrendering the legacy of her House to a man many still considered a blood traitor.

"Draco is just a boy," she went on, Sirius watching her with an inscrutable expression. "But you… you are _Lord Black,_ Sirius. You hold so much power—you are close to Minister Fudge, you have Andromeda in the Wizengamot, you are an Auror yourself… if you agree to become the Protector for House Malfoy—"

"—Voldemort will not target Draco," Sirius finished for her, making her shudder at the utterance of the Dark Lord's name. "Voldemort will gain nothing by trying to force or lure Draco to his side when I have charge of House Malfoy. He will have to pass through me before getting to Draco and the Malfou assets. Your son will be safe, at least for the next five years," Sirius stated tonelessly.

"Yes," she agreed, watching him hopefully.

It was a win-win situation for Sirius, really. Being Lord Black _and_ the Protector for House Malfoy would only add to his influence, his power, his awe-inspiring image in public and even in the corridors of power. He was already on the Dark Lord's hit list; he had already been targeted by the Dark Lord a handful of times. The returns he would get from this would be greater than the risks.

Perhaps she could tell him that, convince him further of the merits of accepting this? But something held her back. "If you want to discuss this with Andromeda, if you need more time to consider this—" she began.

"Do you realise what this means, Narcissa?" Sirius interrupted her. She noticed how he wasn't calling her _Cissy_ anymore. "You will lose a handful of your pureblood friends, you will make it known to Voldemort that you are not on his side, Draco will never agree to this, and when Lucius comes to know of this—"

"Lucius did what he had to," she cut him off, voice trembling with fury this time. "He put me into this situation. Now I shall salvage it as I deem it best. I shall do what Lucius should have done. I shall protect my son."

Sirius watched her mutely again, his gaze calculating now, until he took the parchments again. He took the casket of wax from the table, and dipping the ancestral ring which he wore on his finger – the one that was worn by the Head of the House of Black – into it, he pressed the Black crest beneath his name.

With a slightly trembling hand, Narcissa followed suit with the ring Lucius had kept safe for when Draco came of age.

With a quick wave of his wand, Sirius slashed his thumb, letting the droplets of his blood fall onto the desk. Dipping a quill into it, he signed his name right above the Black seal.

"May I?" Sirius asked her quietly.

Narcissa said nothing for a long moment, before she nodded, barely even feeling the pain of the cut Sirius slashed on her palm. Letting her blood drip onto the desk, she dipped the quill into the dark, glistening liquid.

 _Narcissa Cassiopeia Malfoy,_ she signed her name, watching the words until they dried on the parchment. She could feel it now – the magic thrumming in her veins, warm and cold at the same time, signalling the pact she had sealed.

"Cissy," Sirius said softly, healing her palm with a swish of his wand.

"Sirius," she said quietly. "Lord Protector. I trust you with everything I have, with my son's life."

"And I shall not let you down," he promised, something in his tone telling her he meant to keep his word.

* * *

 **oOoOoOoO**

 **A/N:** Hope this was a decent read. Not our best work, I'll admit. But we're so excited to write year four, so I promise there's a fun ride in the upcoming chapters. Thanks again for reading.

Btw, I'm going to be changing my author name. I'd taken CentaurPrincess from my Pottermore ID back when I was a teen. Feels like it's time I change it. So you'll get the alert for the next chapter under a new author's name :)


	2. Chapter 2 - The Goblet of Fire

**Author's Note:** This is becoming routine now, isn't it? The long, long wait for chapters? It irks us too, but somehow, something or the other keeps coming up and we end up having huge breaks between writings that sort of makes me lose link with the story. This time, it was a trip to Europe (I went to Harry Potter WB Studios and it was so _awesome!),_ and a little too much work in July. We were aiming for uploading this chapter on 31st July – JKR and HP's birthday, but we missed our target as usual.

Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows, favourites and the PMs. I know I've yet to reply to some of the PMs… but I don't quite log in to FFN that often. I'm aiming to remedy that soon :)

Anyway, I won't ramble on now. Let's get on with the story. We've gone a little off the usual course in the latter half of the chapter that I'm very nervous about. You'll know when you read it. Hope you enjoy it :)

 **oOo**

 **Chapter Two – The Goblet of Fire**

The clocked ticked, agonisingly slow.

Draco paced around in Father's study. He stopped for a moment by the window, watching himself mirrored in the glass window panes. His hair was brushed back, not a strand out of place. His robes were one of his richest ones, the colour dark against his pale skin. His face was marred by the scars that Greyback had given him, the scratches silvery white darkening to a deep red from his cheek to his neck.

He looked composed despite how irritated and on edge he felt.

He felt a rush of pride at how Malfoy-like that was. But the feeling didn't last long as he dwelt on where he would be in a few minutes' time: at Diagon Alley, where hundreds of witches and wizards would recognise him as the lycanthropic son of an Azkaban prisoner.

Last year at this time, he hadn't been a scarred boy. He had been happy and eager, thinking he would cajole Father into buying a Firebolt for him. Father had been home back then, not rotting in Azkaban like he was now. For a moment, Draco felt a cold hand gripping at his insides at the thought of Father among the Dementors, imprisoned with scum like that Peter Pettigrew.

But there was nothing to do about that now. Father was gone; he wasn't coming back for the next half a decade. Draco was the man of the house now.

 _But Mother didn't even let me be that,_ he brooded. _She didn't let me do my duty to Father, to House Malfoy. She gave it all to Sirius Black instead._

The insult still hurt him every breathing moment – Mother making Sirius Black the Lord Protector of House Malfoy, handing everything to him on a platter: the Malfoy wealth built by tens of Malfoys over the centuries, the ultimate say in every decision taken by House Malfoy, handing him authority over Draco himself until he turned seventeen, which was three long years away.

 _Mother betrayed me,_ he thought, pained and furious in equal measure. _She never even told me what she was going to do. She signed away all my inheritance to Black, for him to do as he wills with it all. She betrayed Father. She betrayed our House, my forefathers, the very legacy of everything House Malfoy has stood for over the years._

The clock struck five, rousing him from the bitter thoughts, from the hurt that had cut him to the bone.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he said curtly, knowing it was Mother.

"Draco," she said, tall and imposing like Mother usually was. But there was something different about her, a sense of vulnerability that had been there since Father had been arrested… but a sense of underlying power too, something he had never seen in her before.

She looked at him with what seemed like pride. "You look good. The robes bring out the colour of your eyes, dear." Mother walked to him, her hand reaching for him, to cup his cheek or kiss his brow perhaps.

But he looked away, making her withdraw her hand, hurt.

"Draco," she sighed. "Are you still angry with me?"

He glared back at Mother, noticing the lines on her face that had come up overnight since Father had been sentenced.

For a moment, her wearied expression made him bite back his words. But he found that he couldn't. "I _am_ angry with you, of course!"

"Draco," Mother sighed, looking at him as if he was a little boy despite how he was as good as the Head of their House now.

 _Mother cannot treat me like this,_ he thought, turning away from her. _Mother cannot give away everything that belongs to me to Black, who didn't raise a finger to get Father a reduced sentence._

 _But Father did wrong,_ pointed out a quiet voice at the back of his mind. _Father cast the Dark Mark, Father tried to attack Acquila…_

His head spun with the conflict between his mind and his heart, between Father and Acquila, between loyalty and love.

He hadn't been allowed at Father's trial, but he knew it was Acquila who had given the statement that landed Father in Azkaban. Her and that Cedric Diggory. But it wasn't her fault… she had always had reason to hate Father for the things that Sirius Black claimed Father had done – attacked Acquila's aunt, killed her grandfather Edward McKinnon.

The very thought of Father killing someone made him feel queasy.

But it wasn't Acquila's fault. It was Diggory's. If Diggory hadn't taken her to the woods, Father wouldn't have seen them, Father wouldn't have attacked them, Father wouldn't have cast the Mark and he wouldn't have landed in Azkaban, forcing his House and his wealth and his lone heir into Sirius Black's power hungry jaws.

"Let us go down," said Mother quietly, "Sirius will be here any moment."

"He should have been here fifteen minutes ago." Draco pointed out, annoyed. "He's deliberately keeping me waiting. To—to show the hold he has on me!"

"I'm sure something's come up at the Ministry, dear. Sirius is usually punctual," said Mother, defending the man like she had done from the very time he had been acquitted from Azkaban… something Father would never be for the next half a decade…

 _Azkaban,_ the mere thought of it made Draco feel queasy again – the Dementors hovering around Father, sucking all the happiness and good out of him, leaving him dark and bitter and _crazy_ like Aunt Bellatrix… Draco shuddered, shutting his eyes and willing the images away. But they would haunt him, he knew, once it was nightfall and he lay in his cold bed… images of Greyback sinking his teeth into Draco's shoulder, Greyback lunging at an unconscious Acquila, Father being led away by a bunch of faceless Aurors, the Dementors clustering around him, sucking at Father's joy and memories and his very soul.

" _You_ can take me to Diagon Alley instead of forcing me to go with Black," he told Mother, wrenching his mind away from the horror. "It's the least you can do as my mother. Or have you given _this_ to him too? The right to be my parent? Is he going to replace Father now? Is this why you're having _him_ take me shopping for my books?"

He could hear Mother's sharp intake of breath at his harsh words. For a moment, he regretted uttering them. But it _was_ true, wasn't it? Mother should have come to Diagon Alley with him. It was what they had done every year. Mother, Father and him… gone shopping for his books and robes to Diagon Alley. Father wasn't here this year, but Mother could still have done her bit in keeping up the tradition, taken him along, shouldered part of the burden of the stares and whispers that would surely follow him everywhere, doubly harsh now that he was the son of a convicted criminal.

"I will let that pass this time," said Mother, her voice level but anger simmering in her blue eyes. "But you shall not be disrespectful to me again, Draco. However wrong you may think I have done, I am still your mother and the lady of this House."

Draco scoffed, turning away from her, the anger returning now.

"Do you think I do not want to come along with you?" Her voice was softer now. "But it is best Sirius takes you. He is the Lord Protector of our House now. We _need_ everyone to understand that. We have to make a statement to the world at large." Mother's hand was on his shoulder now, making him want to turn around and find himself enclosed in her warm embrace. But something stopped him.

"You are still young, darling." Mother sighed, withdrawing her hand when Draco made no move to respond. "But when you grow up, you shall know why I did what I did. And perhaps then, you shall forgive the wrongs you think I have done you, my child."

"Tell me what it is," demanded Draco, something in Mother's tone tugging at his heart. "Why did you do this? Tell me what's wrong. I'm _fourteen_ now, Mother. I shall understand. Did Black force you to hand over everything to him? Did he hurt you, Mother? I shall protect you! I won't let him—"

"Sirius has done nothing to hurt me, darling." Mother sounded honest. "He could have if he wanted to, seeing how I treated him when he needed a Black most. But he did not force me to do anything, and he will never hurt me. He has sworn to protect us. He shall keep his word. He is a good man. If Lucius had recognised that and made the right choices, perhaps we wouldn't have been where we are now."

 _Don't blame Father_! Draco wanted to shout, shake the words she was uttering about Black out of her. But there was a part of him that told him she was right. Black had never yet done anything to Draco or Mother to make him suspect him.

Yet, old grudges took a lot of time to bury; and the sordid past that Black had with Father would never make him view the Lord Protector favourably.

"Someone's arrived," said Mother suddenly.

Draco curled his fingers into a fist, readying himself for spending an evening with Sirius Black. Oh, Acquila would be there too. But so would Potter. Draco didn't think even Acquila's presence could tide over the unease and distaste that Potter and Black evoked in him.

But when he followed Mother's gaze and looked outside the window, he saw that it wasn't Black but Remus Lupin, Potter with him.

Glad at Remus' unexpected arrival, Draco followed Mother down the staircase to the parlour below.

"Mrs Malfoy," said Remus, nodding politely to Mother. "Ah, Draco!" He smiled a genuine smile the likes of which very few people gave Draco since he'd been bitten. "It's been such a long time."

Like always, Remus knew his mind. He didn't question him about how he was feeling after the recent full moon or how he was doing since Father's imprisonment.

Potter, his hair falling unkemptly almost to his shoulders, nodded at Mother. "Mrs Mal—I mean, Aunt Narcissa," he said, polite but visibly uncomfortable in the Manor. "Hello, Malfoy."

"Potter," drawled Draco, wondering where Acquila was. Why wasn't she here? She should've been with Potter; they lived together after all.

"Acquila will meet us at Diagon Alley." Remus answered his unasked question. "Dora is with her. I'm afraid your son will be stuck with my fiancée and me today, Mrs Malfoy." Remus turned to Mother. "Sirius is caught up with some unavoidable work at the Auror office. He can't make it today."

Draco almost smiled at that. He would even take Nymphadora Tonks' annoying ways if it meant he could avoid having Sirius Black take him to Diagon Alley.

A quarter of an hour later, Draco stood in the Leaky Cauldron, brushing the soot from the fireplace off his robes. He was glad to see that he had grown taller than Potter had in these last few months. Potter had put on a couple of inches, but Draco was a little taller than him, making him feel a queer sort of pride.

"Where's she?" Potter asked Remus, looking visibly uncomfortable, which didn't quite make sense.

"Dora said they'll be at Twilfitt and Tatting's," said Remus, leading them out of the Leaky Cauldron. Draco saw Tom the barman smile a toothless grin at Potter; some of the other wizards and witches there watched the Scarhead, awed. But when their eyes fell on Remus and then Draco, they muttered to each other, whispers of _Azkaban_ and _werewolf_ audible even over the crowded noise.

"Come on, we'll meet the girls. I doubt they're done with shopping for Acquila's dress robes yet." Remus led the way, unaffected by the stares. He kept a steady hand on Potter's shoulder, Draco noticed. And he seemed to be extremely wary and alert as he looked around, his wand in his hand. Perhaps, the lack of Potter's usual Auror guard was making Remus doubly alert given that he was responsible for precious Potter's safety now.

"We've to buy dress robes for you too, Harry. Sirius said you need new ones now that you've grown taller," Remus kept talking, seeing that Draco and Potter weren't really contributing to any conversation. "You should get new dress robes too, Draco. Maybe you could help Harry choose his, seeing how neither Dora nor I have been to Twilfitt and Tatting's before."

Months earlier, Draco would have looked down on Remus on knowing he'd never visited the expensive robe shop. But now, he decided it didn't make any difference to how he viewed Remus. _Maybe,_ he thought grudgingly, _I'll even help Potter choose his robes if it makes Remus happy. Suggest him something that'll make him look foolish,_ he thought smugly.

"Why do we need dress robes, though?" asked Potter. The Scarhead had his hand in his pocket inches away from where he'd stowed his wand, as if ready to grab at it and cast a spell at the slightest sign of anything untoward.

It made Draco uneasy, making him wonder whether he should keep his own wand within reaching distance too, even though casting a spell was against the laws on Underage Magic.

"I don't know why you need dress robes, Harry," replied Remus. "But seeing it's specifically mentioned in the Hogwarts list, we'd better get you both good ones."

Remus kept up a stream of steady chatter all the way to the shop. But neither Draco nor Potter contributed much to the stilted conversation.

Finally, they reached Twilfitt and Tatting's, the door opening magically to let them in.

"Ooh, you look so beautiful, Lady Black!" They heard Madam Twilfitt, the owner of the shop, exclaiming.

When they walked to where Madam Twilfitt was, Draco saw _her,_ her mirrored reflection rather, as she stood in front of the tall mirror: the emerald green silk shimmered as Acquila watched herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to see how the dress fit her. When she finally stood still, her hands on her waist, staring at her reflection, Draco saw how tightly the bust of the dress hugged her. Oh, she was nowhere as voluptuous as some of the other girls at Hogwarts were, but seeing the neckline of the dress dipping a little too low made strange things happen to him.

"Ah, you're finally here!" exclaimed someone. It was only then that Draco noticed Nymphadora Tonks, standing there with her bright pink hair. She kissed Remus lightly on the lips, then ruffled Potter's hair, and then grinned at Draco.

"Hi, Draco!" said Acquila. She came forward and kissed his cheek, making Draco wish she had done more than just that, making him wish she would hug him or—or—just do something other than walk away from him and greet Remus instead.

"You look lovely, Acquila," said Remus. "Lady Black, eh?"

Acquila chuckled wryly. Draco knew she was probably a little uncomfortable with Madam Twilfitt calling her Lady Black earlier. But the old witch was always very much into addressing her pureblood clientele by their proper titles.

Acquila looked at Potter then. She said nothing for a long moment. "Hello, Harry," she said, finally.

"Acquila," said Potter.

They looked at each other for a long time, silent. It all seemed pretty weird to Draco.

"How are you?" Acquila asked Potter.

But that didn't make any sense! They lived together at Grimmauld Place. Why would Acquila ask Potter how he was when they were together all the bloody time?

"I'm okay," said Potter. "I hope—well, you're doing good too?"

Salazar! What was wrong with them? Why were they both being so _formal_ … and—and uncomfortable with each other?

"I'm fine, Harry. Thank you," said Acquila, turning away from Potter and looking at the mirror again, while Madam Twilfitt greeted Draco and asked politely about how Mother was keeping.

"So, Acquila," said Nymphadora, "I think we should buy this one. It looks gorgeous on you."

 _Yes, get this dress!_ Draco wanted to tell her, staring at how pretty the green looked on Acquila. She never wore green much, he mused. But now that he'd seen how pretty she looked in green, he wished she would wear it all the time. It looked so… elegant and… _Slytherin_ like… like a proper pureblood heiress, which was what Acquila was…

"I don't think so," said Acquila quietly, and Draco saw that she was staring at Potter in the mirror. Potter wasn't looking at her, though. He had his hands in his pockets, seeming very ill at ease with everything as he stared around. "I think I'll take the other one, Dora, the one I tried earlier. I like that better."

"Okay." Tonks smiled brightly. "We'll have the other dress, Madam Twilfitt! And now, dress robes for Harry, eh? I saw some maroon ones for you, but Acquila said you wouldn't like them," she grumbled.

Potter's gaze snapped to Acquila, Draco saw. But he looked away as soon as Acquila looked at him.

Weird. So very weird!

"Yes—I don't think I'll like maroon ones," muttered Potter, rubbing his neck a little sheepishly.

"Ah, Draco will help us decide," put in Remus, putting his hands on Draco's shoulders and leading him to the section for wizards. "We want two sets of dress robes, Madam Twilfitt. One for Harry and one for Draco. Our boys should look their very best."

"Of course, of course! Such an honour having the Boy Who Lived at my little shop!" exclaimed Madam Twilfitt, waving her wand and having half a dozen of dress robes fly out of the shelves and stand neatly in the air for Potter and him to examine.

It took quite some time for Draco to decide on his own robes and for Tonks and him to help Potter (who had _really_ horrible taste in colours and robe styles) select his dress robes. And then the five of them walked out of Twilfitt and Tatting's, Madam Twilfitt wealthier by a few galleons.

Remus led them to Flourish and Bolts. While Remus purchased the books for them, Tonks kept talking and talking and _talking._ Draco couldn't see how the usually quiet Remus could put up with her constant chatter.

It was only a little later that Draco realised that the Metamorphmagus' chattering was helping mask the _very_ strange thing that was happening: Acquila and Potter not really talking to each other. Oh they put in a few words when Tonks spoke of everything under the sun, discussing who would be the new DADA teacher (something a smug Tonks told them she already knew but would wait for them to find out) and the upcoming Quidditch league season, but Potter and Acquila never really spoke to each other. There was none of their usual sickeningly sweet hand holding and exchanging those frequent glances and the playful bantering… something was wrong, something was _very_ wrong,

Potter and Acquila having a tiff boded very well for Draco. But it still irked him, not knowing what went wrong between the two of them.

It wasn't until they were finally done with shopping for school robes and Potions ingredients and pet food for their respective pets, that Draco finally got a chance to talk to Acquila alone.

They were sitting in Florean Fortesque's ice cream parlour. Remus was treating them all to ice cream, and he had taken Potter along to take a look at some new flavour of ice cream Fortesque had come up with. Tonks was a table away, talking with one of her old Hogwarts mates she met at the shop. That left Draco alone with Acquila at the table – something he'd been looking forward to since the evening began.

"You don't seem happy," he told her, getting straight to the point, knowing he didn't have much time before the Remus and Tonks and the annoying Scarhead returned to their table.

"What do you mean?" asked Acquila. She was frowning now, not smiling at him like she'd been a moment ago.

"I mean, Potter and you. What's wrong? You're always so friendly with each other, and today you're barely talking."

Acquila stared at him mutely, then sighed. "It's nothing… just a little fight we had…"

"I don't think the fight was all that little if he isn't living with your father and you," Draco pointed out, deciding to try his luck and see whether she would answer him than be annoyed at his prying.

"We just fought, alright? It happens between friends. No big deal. I'd fought with you too after the Diary incident? We got over it too." Acquila sounded a little irritated now.

 _But Potter and you didn't seem like you were just friends,_ he wanted to point out, though even thinking of them together made him mad.

What did they fight over? Why did Potter get so mad that he left their home? Unless—unless they'd fought over _Diggory_! Over Acquila and Diggory going on that moonlit walk that had ultimately landed Father in Azkaban.

"Was it because of Diggory?" Draco blurted out, unable to contain his curiosity now.

Acquila looked rather miffed now.

"Is something going on between Diggory and you?" Draco pressed his luck, unable to hold back.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, annoyed. "Why would—"

"Here we are!" exclaimed Remus from behind Draco, handing him his ice cream cone. "This is yours, Draco. And here, Acquila, your ice cream. Dora, come on! I got you the raspberry one you like so much."

Tonks walked over to them, almost tripping over a chair. Acquila and Potter tucked into their ice-creams quietly.

But Draco watched the two of them, knowing he would have to get to the bottom of the matter.

If there wasn't anything going on between Diggory and her, and if things were over between Potter and her, perhaps this was the chance to be with her that he'd been waiting for since the day Father and Mother had promised he would wed Acquila Black.

 **oOo**

She woke up to Nyx mewing loudly, the kneazle pawing at her arm through the covers.

"Go away, Nyx," grumbled Acquila, pushing the feline away with a sleepy hand.

Acquila wanted to sleep. It had been quite a while since she'd had a peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. Most nights, she tossed and turned in bed going over her conversation with Harry that dratted night, feeling angry and bitter and sad, her emotions jumping from one to another. Most of the times, though, she was more pissed off than guilty, though both sentiments left her feeling gloomy and hollow within. She'd thought she wouldn't be affected by it all for so long, but it still bothered her.

"Shoo, go away," she told Nyx again, turning to her side so that the feline fell off the covers with an angry purr. Nyx kept mewing angrily, jumping up onto Acquila's stomach, mewing and mewing and scratching Acquila lightly with her clawed paws until she finally sat up in bed, catching hold of Nyx and kissing her furry head.

"What's up with you, huh? Waking me up like that? Are you hungry or something?" she asked the kneazle.

Nyx only purred, staring at Acquila with her bright green eyes… _like Harry's._ It was why she'd chosen Nyx from the pet store three years ago, because the black coloured kneazle with the green eyes had reminded her of Harry.

Shaking her head, she got off her bed, Nyx waiting impatiently for her as she brushed her teeth. She glanced at the large clock when she was done; she had slept in pretty late. Wanting to meet her Dad before he left for work, she went down the staircases to the huge dining room, Nyx at her heels.

Harry was there already. He looked at her when she entered, and then turned his gaze quickly to his toast.

"Hey, sweetheart," said Sirius, grinning at her as she took the chair to his right.

"Good morning, Dad," she said cheerfully.

"Good morning, love," replied Sirius. She took a piece of toast and began buttering it, only for Sirius to give a fake little cough.

Acquila rolled her eyes. "Good morning, Harry," she said.

"Hey," said Harry quietly.

Another time, they'd both be grinning at each other at Sirius' suggestive little cough. But now she only looked away, concentrating on the butter on her toast as if it was something very fascinating.

From beside her, she heard Sirius sigh audibly.

The last couple of days, her Dad had tried to get her and Harry talking again. But his efforts had not yielded anything yet. He was bound to try again. He was never the one to give up, although it was a tough task Sirius was facing.

Oh, it wasn't like they didn't talk at all or something. They did talk… living in the same house, you couldn't go without conversing at all. They sat in the library sometimes, going through stuff on Horcruxes. They had breakfast and lunch and dinner together, telling each other politely to pass the fruit bowl or the sausages. Then they went to their separate rooms. Sometimes, Sirius had them practice spells in the evening if he came home early. But that didn't require much talking, really. Just casting spells and muttering incantations.

It didn't anger her anymore, really, seeing Harry. Oh, she hadn't forgotten how he'd invaded her mind, but she didn't feel that hot burst of rage she'd felt in Twilfitt and Tattings' – the one that had followed the instinctive joy at seeing him.

It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to him. It was just that she didn't know what to say. She had racked her brains dozens of time, searching for anything that would mark the beginning of normalcy, but she just couldn't come up with the right words to say. They had gone for so long with their conversations being instinctively reading thoughts in the other's mind, knowing what the other was feeling with just a little twinkle in the eyes, a slight shake of the head, or a simple gaze and a sudden racing of the heart, that it seemed strange finding words that could make up for what they had lost, for what was broken, perhaps irreparably, for the end that she had begun and Harry had finished.

She knew, she _knew_ that maybe if she reached out to his mind again, to his _soul_ even, maybe she could set things right again, get back what she had pushed away – that comfort, that affection, the little gestures that had become a part of her life now… holding his hand and ruffling his hair and sitting squished together in that Muggle bean bag Dora had brought before she left, staring at the starry skies and talking about random things, and sometimes not even that… just sitting in a comfortable silence, hearing his deep breathing as he fell asleep next to her sometimes, his mind blank, almost peaceful, before a loud car zooming by on the street below made him wake up with a start, green eyes bright and his hair sticking up in every direction… the mere memory of it made her miss him, even though he was sitting right there in front of her, staring at his glass of water.

"So, what plans do you two have for today?" asked Sirius, a little too casually.

"I'm going to Black Manor," muttered Acquila, "Spending some time with Calliope. Dora said she'll come with me. She's got a day off."

Nyx mewed loudly. Though Acquila hardly spent any time with her Winged Horse, Nyx could get pretty jealous of the Winged Horse, wanting Acquila's attention all to herself on the odd occasion that she took the kneazle along to Black Manor. Acquila patted Nyx's head affectionately, the kneazle purring in satisfaction.

"That's great," said Sirius. "You surely want to meet Thunder too, Harry?" He looked at Harry.

"Um, I'll just sit in today… read up on this book I found _Spells and Beyond._ " Harry pretended to sound excited.

Acquila knew he was lying. He'd have loved to come to fly with Thunder. But with things so awkward between them, he was holding back, of course. It was a very _Harry_ thing to do – deprive himself of something that gave him happiness just to avoid conflict and make someone else happy.

Sirius sighed audibly. "Look, I know I should leave it for both of you to get over it on your own time, but just… just try to sort this out, alright? You can't go on like this, love," he told Acquila. "Nor you, kiddo. Long before the relationship and the break up came in, you both were friends, remember? You were friends long before you even knew about magic or the Soul Bond… don't lose that, alright? Good friends are hard to come by…"

Her Dad seemed a little uncomfortable, like he always got when he spoke of matters like this.

"I'll see you tonight, alright?" Sirius got up from his chair, Kreacher rushing towards him with his coat and his watch. "Just think about what I said, please?" He kissed Acquila's brow and ruffled Harry's hair.

When Sirius left, Acquila looked at Harry, her thoughts wrestling with each other. Harry looked back at her, seeming to struggle with himself. She said nothing, waiting for him to start a conversation. But Harry seemed to be thinking the same.

Huffing, she looked away from him.

Why couldn't _he_ talk? Why couldn't he say something to break the ice? She didn't even know what to say, how to go about setting things right, how to admit that she'd been wrong, how to get over that feeling of Harry ripping through her mind.

Sighing, she put her plate away.

"I'll—umm, I'm not too hungry. I'll go have a shower. Dora will be here to pick me up," she muttered.

"Okay," said Harry, looking like he wanted to say something more but then decided against it.

"Mistress!" called Mopsy as Acquila was halfway up the staircase. "Master Phineas is calling for you!"

Sighing (she wasn't quite in the mood for a talk with Phineas now), Acquila walked to the room which had Phineas' portrait.

"Ah, there you are, girl," drawled Phineas. "I've been waiting for you."

"What is it?"

"Look at you. You don't even have the courtesy to greet me. _Me,_ your esteemed forefather—"

"Good morning, Grandfather Phineas," cut in Acquila. The portrait could go on and on about _respecting your ancestors_ if she didn't do what he wanted her to.

"Now tell me. What is it? Is it Dumbledore? Or did you find something about the Horcruxes from somewhere?" she asked him.

"I wouldn't call you to meet me unless it was something important, girl. I have better things to do, you know, than sit around with someone as mopey as you've been recently," said Phineas, surveying her with a disappointed sort of look.

"Mopey? I haven't been mopey or anything," huffed Acquila.

"Nyx! Nyx, wait—oh!" Harry stumbled into the room.

Acquila turned around to meet Harry's confused gaze. "Is Nyx here? She kept tugging at my sleeve and made me follow her—where's she gone? I saw her get in here!" He looked all around the room. But Nyx wasn't anywhere. Acquila would've known if the kneazle had come in.

"The great Boy Who Lived," said Phineas, " _Fooled_ by a mere kneazle. Come here, boy."

Harry walked in, the door shutting softly behind him.

A flicker of triumph flit across Phineas' sharp features. But before Acquila could remark on it, Phineas went on speaking. "I've sat back and watched you both carry on this little tiff of yours for quite some days now." He stroked his pointy beard. "All the brooding and the running away from home—"

"I don't brood!" protested Acquila.

"I didn't run away!" exclaimed Harry at the same time.

For a moment, their eyes met, a ghost of a grin at Harry's lips. But they looked away and back at Phineas.

"—the formal talks and the heavy silences. I cannot tolerate your juvenile gloom and doom," went on Phineas. "I've _told_ you, Acquila. You are the Black heiress for Salazar's sake! You are not supposed to be so _sentimental_!"

"I can't even brood in my own house now?" muttered Acquila, rolling her eyes.

"Ah!" exclaimed Phineas. "So you admit you were brooding—"

"I'm not—"

"Look," Phineas cut in, "I don't care what goes on between you two. I can't deny I'm rather glad you ended that business between you and Potter here. After all, he's a half-blood—"

"Hey!" protested Acquila, outraged on Harry's behalf, even though she knew Phineas was only teasing Harry in his own twisted way. Despite Harry's half-blood status, Phineas had grown fond of him, though he'd never admit it.

"But," Phineas went on, "I cannot have you both behaving like this in public. You'll be at Hogwarts in a few days. And House Black has to put on a united front, especially with all Malfoy business Sirius has got into—not that I'm not glad about it, mind you. _Lord Protector_ of House Malfoy! Abraxas Malfoy must be rolling in his grave!" Phineas rubbed his hands gleefully. "But that's beside the point. House Black will _not_ be maligned by this childish behaviour you both are carrying on with. The world has never known the infighting that went on within House Black—yes, that's never mentioned in the history books." He said at Acquila's confused expression. "Nobody knows how Caelum and Aries Black killed each other in a duel for Cordelia Lestrange's hand—"

"I thought they died of dragon pox," muttered Acquila.

"No, they didn't. They duelled to the death, those foolish twins, all for a half-mad witch. There's no need for you to know the details now. If your father was a better Black, you'd already know of these dark parts of our House's history. Of course, your little fight with Potter here isn't as tangled a matter as some of those our ancestors put each other through. But in these times, when Sirius is finally taking our House to the gloried heights that we've always deserved, I cannot have you two being so unfriendly with each other for the whole world to see. We cannot be perceived as weak, at any cost."

"We're just kids!" burst out Harry. "Nobody's going to think your house is weak because Acquila and I broke up! It's not like we're never going to talk properly, alright? We'll sort out things at our own time."

"Harry's right," put in Acquila, secretly glad that Harry was so sure they'd sort this out. "You can't force us to reconcile."

"You'll find that I can," said Phineas slyly, glancing at the door.

"What do you mean?" demanded Harry.

"You locked us in!" cried Acquila. She'd had a suspicion about that since the door shut on its own. She rushed to the door, trying to pull it open. But it wouldn't budge, not even when she tried the Unlocking Spell.

"Let me try," said Harry.

"My magic isn't _that_ weak that I need you to open the door for me," snapped Acquila.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "I didn't say it was!" He looked hurt, then annoyed. "I just thought I'll try opening it—"

"It's not going to open," said Phineas smugly from his portrait, sounding extremely pleased with himself. "You'll find that elfish magic can work wonders. The door will open only when you two have sorted out your disagreement. And pretending won't work. Ingenious, isn't it?"

Acquila looked at Harry, who was looking back at her. She knew they were both on the same page. Neither of them was ready to talk about their… situation. Phineas' stupid interference wasn't going to help matters.

"Dad!" shouted Acquila loudly, looking away from Harry. "Are you here, Dad? Are you in on this too?"

"Stop shouting like an uncouth Weasley! That foolish father of yours knows nothing about this," said Phineas. "He'd have been glad to let you both go on like this if it meant he didn't have to speak to you about it. He's quite a coward at times, isn't he? For all his Gryffindorish tendencies? I always knew that boy should've been in Slytherin. Such a shame—"

"This is ridiculous!" exclaimed Acquila. "You can't lock us in like this, okay? Kreacher! Let us out!" she shouted for the elf. But there was no answering _crack_ of the elf apparating.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" Phineas looked almost affronted. "I've sent the elves away. Given them orders that ensure they won't let you out unless you both make up. Now, I'm going to give you both some… privacy," he said delicately. "That's one good thing to come out of the end of your short-lived relationship: I don't have to worry about leaving Acquila alone with you, Potter, now that there's no danger of you defiling my heiress."

"Hey, I never defiled her or whatever!" protested Harry. "She was the one who snogged me first—"

"I didn't!" exclaimed Acquila. "You did! In that secret passage! You got all drunk on that Firewhiskey we sneaked out of the Hog's Head, and then _you_ kissed me—"

"For Salazar's sake, I don't need to hear all this!" cried Phineas, looking mighty disgusted. "Sort this out, this disagreement of yours. Or you'll have to stay locked up here forever."

"Dora's coming to pick me up," pointed out Acquila. "She'll let us out."

"Looks like being with Potter for all these months has affected your wits, girl," said Phineas condescendingly. "When I took care to ensure the elves won't interfere, do you think I won't have handled that little half-blood? Your _Dora_ isn't coming here today. I'll go annoy Dumbledore a little now. By the time I'm back you'll have this sorted out if you know what's good for you."

Acquila stared at the empty portrait that Phineas left behind, then she huffed and sat in one of the squishy armchairs.

"Looks like we're going to be stuck here, then," said Harry, taking the seat opposite her.

"Yes. I don't think we can find a way out of this," she agreed, "He seems to have planned this really well."

"So… I guess we're going to have to talk." Harry sounded uneasy.

Acquila finally looked at him… the green eyes meeting hers, his hair that had grown even longer now, the jet black ends falling to his shoulders, that air of solemnity around him. For a moment, all she wanted to hug that gloom out of him. Smell his familiar scent and have her fingers mussing up his hair and feel the steady thrum of his heartbeats against her palm…

He seemed to have sensed her thoughts, because there was a sudden flash of joy in his eyes, relief and hope – it gladdened her own heart for a moment, before she felt the now familiar fury simmering within her.

"You shouldn't have done that," she heard herself saying, her voice calm despite the rage and betrayal underneath. She could still feel it if she tried to remember – the force with which Harry invaded her mind, tugging ferociously at every thought she wanted to keep concealed, finding herself powerless to stop him—she wrenched her mind from the memories, meeting Harry's guilt gaze.

"I'm sorry for that," he said quietly. "I was sorry the moment I did it. It was wrong of me—it won't happen again."

She nodded mutely. She had never expected Harry, of all people, to invade her mind like that, to force himself into thoughts she never wanted anyone to know.

But she pushed down the fury now. Harry was sorry; and she wouldn't drag this on any longer, not when she too, despite how she hated admitting it, had things to apologise for. Her inability to come to a decision regarding their relationship had taken a toll on Harry. He had patiently waited for an answer from her for a long time. He had deserved better, and she hadn't been fair to him at all.

"I have to say sorry too," she began, squirming a little, "I shouldn't have kept you waiting. I'm sorry I didn't make up my mind." Once she started, she found that it wasn't so hard to go on. "I wasn't ready to decide about us—I… well, I could never not want you, Harry, you're my best friend. What you saw in my thoughts, that was just because I was annoyed with the Bond and my magic… it doesn't mean I don't want you—"

"I know," cut in Harry, ever so understanding. "You don't need to—"

"I do," she persisted. "I should—"

"No," he said, "We both made mistakes… and—you know I can't be mad at you for long."

"I missed you," she blurted out. "I missed you a lot. I didn't know it could hurt so much, being away from you."

"I missed you too," he said. He went quiet for a moment, and then slowly held out a hand to her. She clasped his hand with her own, her heart singing when she felt his warm skin against hers. Suddenly, she didn't feel all that hollow within.

For a moment, all she wanted was to hug him. But it didn't feel quite right; hesitation held her back, and some lingering confusion. They weren't together anymore like _that._ Now that she thought about it, it had been so long since Harry and she were just friends, without any romantic sentiments on either side, that she'd forgotten how it was to be just a friend to him.

It would take time, she knew, a lot of time for them to work this out properly. But for now, she found enough solace in the feel of his hand in hers.

"You're coming flying with me, right?" She asked him with a smile.

"Of course I am," he replied, smiling a smile that seemed to set his face alight with genuine joy.

"Come on, then," said Acquila, walking to the door and finding that it opened at her touch.

"You know Grandfather Phineas is going to gloat about this for months, right?" said Harry.

"Yes," she chuckled, glad, despite herself, that Harry had known she'd been thinking about Phineas without even needing to access her mind.

"Let's go," said Harry, holding her hand tighter as her heart soared at the thought of flying the skies with him.

 **oOo**

"Doesn't look like the rains are going to stop any time soon," muttered Sirius as they stepped on to platform 9¾. Now that they were under the roof of the very crowded platform, Sirius took off the water repellent charm he'd cast on them, Harry feeling a slight tingle as the charm was negated.

"Come on quick, and stay close to me. Looks like it's extra crowded today than it is every September. And ah, _puddles_ … just what we wanted," muttered Sirius, his mood as grey as the pouring skies. But that was quite understandable. His godfather never quite liked seeing Acquila and him off to Hogwarts. He would miss them fiercely, Harry knew.

"Be good at school, both of you," said Sirius quietly, as they spotted the Weasleys. "And call me, on the Two Way Mirror. You know I'm always there for you, right?"

"Yes. I'll miss you, Dad," said Acquila quietly, squeezing Sirius' hand, their trunks magically following them.

"Me too," said Harry. Like every year, his excitement at returning to Hogwarts was tinged with a bit of sorrow at parting from his godfather. He knew Sirius would be lonely at Grimmauld Place now. It was different when Remus lived with them. Now that he'd moved in with Dora, Sirius would be all alone with only the elves for company.

Harry shared a glance with Acquila, who looked just as upset as him.

It was strange how quickly the summer had passed. The trip to France, the World Cup, breaking up with Acquila … it seemed like it had all happened in just a few weeks instead of the two months that had been since they left Hogwarts for home. But at least Acquila and Harry had patched up… that would put Sirius' mind at ease, knowing both his children were together at Hogwarts.

Oh, they weren't completely back to normal yet. But things had improved between them; it rather irked Harry that he had Grandfather Phineas to thank for their rapprochement, something the old man had taken to bragging about day and night, much to Acquila's irritation.

But Harry couldn't deny he was glad that Phineas forced them to reconcile that day. Or they'd both probably have gone on and on like that. All those day living at Remus' place and not talking to her had been hard. He had missed her a lot and he kept wondering if he had done the right thing. Now that they'd become friends, the world seemed right again, even though there was none of the romantic entanglements that had been part of their relationship for more than a year now.

It was still a little awkward between them. He couldn't deny he missed what they had been, what they _could_ have been—but that was a thought best quelled. Acquila was his best friend; she had always been. And although it would be tough to stitch back all the strings of their bond that they'd both unravelled painfully the day of the break up, being around their friends at Hogwarts would, perhaps, make it easier for them to be the friends they'd been since they were eight.

"I'll miss you too. Both of you," said Sirius, as Harry felt his rough hand ruffling his hair.

"Ah, hello, Molly," Sirius exclaimed loudly, sporting a polite smile when they neared the Weasleys. Unlike the others on the platform, the Weasleys were soaked through their skin. Harry saw Malfoy smirking at the drenched red-heads as he came over to talk to Acquila.

"Ron!" exclaimed Harry happily.

"Hello, Ron," said Acquila. But Ron seemed a little miffed with her; he only nodded at her coldly. Acquila shrugged and went off to talk to the twins.

Ginny told them that Mr Weasley was out on urgent Muggle business; Mrs Weasley kept grumbling about some "please-men" investigation in a wizarding house. As Mrs Weasley went on with her story, Sirius dried all the Weasleys with a swish of his wand.

Within no time at all, the train's horn went off and the Weasleys scrambled to get on board.

"Call me, okay?" said Sirius, kissing the top of Acquila's head and pulling Harry into a one-armed hug before they both got onto the train.

"See you at Christmas!" Mrs Weasley waved her kids goodbye. "Well, maybe not. I'm sure you would want to stay at Hogwarts with everything that'll be going on."

"What do you mean?" Fred asked.

"What's going to happen at Christmas?" George asked.

"Dad! You know too, don't you?" Acquila called out from the window. Harry watched Sirius smirking at them both.

"Come on, tell us!" exclaimed Harry.

But Sirius only winked at them. "You'll find out soon. Goodbye, love. Goodbye, Prongslet!" He called out, as the train started, and Acquila and Harry waved goodbye to him until Sirius went out of sight.

"What do you think they meant?" asked Hermione curiously when they caught up with Neville and her and found an empty compartment.

"I don't know. Even Percy went on and on about it all summer," grumbled Ron.

The discussion went on for quite a while, but they couldn't zero in on what would make them want to stay back at Hogwarts for Christmas. Harry was glad they were all so interested about the mystery – it gave them something to talk about. This was the first time the five of them had met together since the breakup, and he didn't quite want them talking about the _why_ s and _how_ s of the end of the relationship, especially Ron who still hadn't forgiven Acquila _._

All in all, everything was back to normal… well, kind of back to normal. During the train ride, Cedric Diggory had passed by their compartment, and Acquila spent a good fifteen minutes talking to him about Merlin knew what. It bothered Harry a bit. He didn't want it to bother him, but he couldn't quite help it. He would have to learn to get over it, he knew.

It was still raining when they finally reached Hogsmeade. Hermione cast a water repelling charm on all five of them, and they got into a carriage, the Thestrals whinnying as the rains lashed at them.

They finally reached the Castle, tired and hungry, only for Peeves to cause a huge disruption with throwing a water balloon right on Ron's head, and another that narrowly missed Acquila and burst at Harry's feet, sending a wave of cold water over his sneakers into his socks; it sent everyone shrieking and pushing each other to get out of the line of fire… _water,_ rather. It took a furious McGonagall's arrival (the deputy headmistress almost tripping on the wet floor and grabbing at Hermione's neck for support) for Peeves to finally flee the spot.

By the time they reached the House table, Harry's stomach was growling with hunger. He couldn't quite wait for the feast to begin. But the mystery of the empty seat at the staff table took his mind off the hunger a little.

The chair set for the DADA professor was unoccupied, and Harry wondered who they'd have this year. As his gaze swept past each teacher, he spotted Snape. The greasy-haired professor held his gaze for a long moment, glaring at him with his dark eyes. Harry, uncomfortable, finally looked away at the rest of the Great Hall.

When he glanced at the Slytherin table, he saw Daphne, who was also looking at him. She smiled and waved at him. Harry smiled back, before his view was blocked by Colin Creevey informing them about his younger brother joining Hogwarts this year.

"Do you think it'll be someone we know?" whispered Acquila suddenly. "The DADA teacher? Dad was awfully secretive about it all summer."

"It could be," said Harry. "If Sirius had his way, I'm sure we'll have someone as good as Remus. But it's hard to say…"

Acquila nodded, before pointing to the shivering first years who had just walked in with terrified looks on their faces, except for the one who was wrapped in Hagrid's huge moleskin coat.

"That's my brother!" exclaimed Colin.

Finally, the sorting began and then ended; Colin's brother was sorted into Gryffindor. And _finally_ Dumbledore stood up, Harry's stomach growling audibly loud now.

"I have only two words to say to you," Dumbledore told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. "Tuck in."

Harry wolfed down his food almost as quickly as Ron did, tucking into the dishes almost as soon as they appeared on the table. There was cacophony in the Hall; everyone seemed to be talking at the same time, no one really listening to anyone. The warmth of the castle had made them forget the storm that was brewing outside, despite the loud thunder and the frequent flashes of lightening on the enchanted ceiling.

It was good to be back.

When the feast was finally over, Harry so full that he doubted he would even be able to get up from his seat, Dumbledore stood up for the beginning of the year announcements. He began with the usual warning and rules like he did each year.

"I am pleased to announce," said Dumbledore happily. Harry listened, drowsy. "That Hogwarts is hosting an event this year. It will begin in October, and continue throughout the school year. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

There was a deafening roar of thunder. The doors of the Great Hall burst open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning on a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Everyone stared, the Great Hall breaking out in chatter.

Illuminated by the sudden flash of lightening outside, Harry thought the man looked familiar.

"That's Moody!" exclaimed Acquila suddenly. "Mad Eye Moody! Look!"

She was right. The former Auror walked in, scarred as ever, blue eye whirring furiously in its eyeball, staring at all the students. A dull _clunk_ echoed through the sudden silence that fell, as Moody made his way up to the staff table.

"He's our DADA teacher?" whispered Harry, a little stunned. " _He_ 's our DADA teacher!" he repeated, immensely excited now.

Mad Eye Moody! The man who had trained Sirius and Harry's own father and turned them into such brilliant Aurors! He'd be Harry's DADA teacher! The man who made Sirius what he was today! Oh, this was brilliant! He would teach Harry—that would help him so very much when he grew up and applied to be an Auror himself! Sirius Black and James Potter's mentor! _Dora'_ s mentor! And he'd teach Acquila and him now! This was wonderful!

"Ron!" he turned to Ron. "Ron, this is _Mad Eye_ —"

"I know!" exclaimed Ron, grinning widely. "Mad Eye Moody! Is he going to be our DADA professor?"

"I think so… no wonder Sirius sounded so smug about it!"

Moody walked past the Gryffindor table. For a moment, Harry wondered if he'd look at Acquila and him with his fake eye. But Moody passed by them without a glance, went straight up to Dumbledore and shook his hand. They whispered for a while, and then Dumbledore gestured for him to take the seat that was empty.

"This is our new Defense Against Dark Arts professor," Dumbledore announced. "Professor Moody."

Unlike how new staff members were usually greeted with applause, nobody except Dumbledore and Hagrid clapped. But Acquila, Harry and Ron began clapping too, still exhilarated that Moody would be teaching them. Taking their lead, some of the Gryffindors followed suit, before the clapping faded into silence. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody's bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him. Harry couldn't blame them. Moody did give off a strange vibe.

"This _was_ Dad's idea," said Acquila, smiling a little. "Sending an ex-Auror as a professor to protect us. But Moody is good… I mean we _know_ him, sort of."

"He'll be great!" said Harry.

"But if Moody tails us around school, I'll have to have a word with Dad," said Acquila. She was still smiling though.

"This is incredible!" put in Hermione. "We'll be trained in DADA by an ex-Auror!"

"His eye gives me the creeps," muttered Neville. "He looks a little scary."

"He's cool!" said Ron.

"As I was saying before Professor Moody's arrival ," said Dumbledore loudly, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're joking!" said Fred loudly.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr Weasley," chuckled Dumbledore, launching into the rather dangerous history of the tournament, the changes they'd now made to the tasks to make them less life-threatening, and how they'd compete against Beauxbatons and Drumstrang who would be arriving in October.

"Fleur's in Beauxbaton," muttered Harry, remembering what the French girl had told them. But nobody quite heard him as Dumbledore announced that there'd be one champion selected from each school and the prize would be the Triwizard Cup and a _thousand_ galleons. Fred and George and even Ron looked tremendously eager to participate, only for Dumbledore to add that only those who were seventeen years of age or above could take part in the tournament, much to the Weasleys' chagrin.

Finally, Dumbledore ended his speech. Some of the students were grumbling about the age restriction, but everyone looked very excited for the tournament.

Harry, though, looked at Acquila.

"Looks like we'll finally have a quiet year," he said.

"Yes. The spotlight will be on the champions. We'll get to stay in the background… now that's something to look forward to," she said, unthinkingly reaching for his hand.

Harry smiled, lacing his fingers with hers.

 **oOo**

"So, they're talking again now, huh?" asked Remus.

"Yes, they are. And I have Phineas to thank for that," grumbled Sirius. "I mean it's great the kids are friends again… but Phineas locking them up in a room—he had Kreacher put a spell on it, you know? They would have stayed locked up until they truly buried the hatchet! That could have taken ages for all that cunning old man knew!"

Remus laughed. "Well, turned out Phineas was right in the end, eh? As long as the kids are friends again, I don't think it matters how they patched up, Sirius. I mean, I was afraid what would happen if they carried on like that for long…"

"They're fine now, at least that's what I think from whenever I've spoken to them on the Two Way Mirror," said Sirius. "I mean, I doubt they'll be as… close as they were. But this is better than that cold war they'd had going with all the not talking to each other…"

Remus smiled. "You miss them, huh?"

"'Course I do. They won't even be coming home for Christmas this time," muttered Sirius. "Yule ball at Hogwarts and all that… Anyway, how's your work going?" He changed the topic, not wanting to dwell on how he missed the children.

"It's going well," replied Remus, sipping his tea. "Some of the older men aren't really dealing with the rehabilitation well," he went on, referring to the werewolves his Werewolf Liaison Office looked after, "But the younger ones are doing really well. Amos Diggory's granted our office some funds for having a couple of teachers come to Cepheus' Castle to teach the children… you know, basic stuff… I'm hopeful some of them will even be able to handle studying at Hogwarts in future if they keep up their progress."

"That's great!" Sirius grinned, genuinely pleased. There was no better man than Remus for taking charge of the rehabilitation of the many werewolves who were arrested from the forests during the Greyback episode. While some of those who belonged to the murderous werewolf's pack were rather tough to handle, he knew some of the other lycanthropes genuinely wanted to lead a normal, crime-free life.

"How's _your_ work going?" asked Remus.

"Not that great, really, seeing we still have no leads on Crouch Junior," Sirius muttered, calling for another serving of the pudding. "The only thing we know of his whereabouts is that he attacked Snape in Knockturn Alley. But that seems a little fishy, you know. I mean, Snape claimed Crouch attacked him and then went off when Snape tried to retaliate, but we have no witnesses. Not that folk who visit Knockturn Alley are going to be truthful to us Aurors or something, but we've got informers there. None of them saw Snape getting attacked or anything. And that's the only thing we've known about Crouch recently… that he was in Knockturn Alley to attack Snape."

Remus nodded, sighing. "I don't think Severus would lie to you, though. He has nothing to gain by lying."

Sirius thought back to the Unbreakable Vow he'd had Snape swear. "You're right, Snape won't really lie to me," he conceded.

"Apart from Crouch, how's work going? With Scrimgeour, I mean," asked Remus.

"Ah, Scrimgeour's sort of forgiven me for punching Malfoy." Sirius grinned. "Mostly because I cracked that Atherton case with Robards. Thank Godric for that. I can't tolerate Robards… he's an insufferable man."

Calling for yet another serving of the pudding, Sirius went on. "It's been a dull last couple of weeks, though. Not many cases on hand, which is good of course, but it gets boring at work. I mean, if there's no case to work on, I'd rather be out looking for the Horcruxes than sit in the Auror office doing paperwork."

"Is that where you were Thursday night, then?" asked Remus.

"Huh?" said Sirius absently, tucking into the pudding, still ravenous seeing he hadn't eaten since an early dinner last evening.

"Thursday night," repeated Remus. "I came over to Grimmauld Place, thought we could have a drink together. But you weren't home. Mopsy said you were out on a case."

"Oh that… I was helping Kingsley with one of his cases," Sirius lied easily. In truth, he'd been at Irene's house.

Damn, he should've known Remus could get suspicious. He would need to keep better excuses ready. It wasn't that he was hiding whatever he had going on with Irene from Remus… it was just that he didn't think Remus would… approve of it. And he didn't want to listen to Remus lecture him about relationships and moving on and being serious about life. He'd had that enough from Phineas and even Andy who wanted him to settle down with a good witch.

"Isn't Kingsley in charge of Azkaban, though? I thought Scrimgeour gave the prison security to him completely… took him off usual cases and stuff…" Remus was unusually curious.

"Ah, you know I can't tell you everything about our work, Moony," Sirius waved his questions off. "Confidentiality and everything."

Remus frowned, but then nodded. "I get it. Have you made any progress on the… Horcruxes yet?" Despite the privacy charm they'd put on, Remus was careful enough to look all around before uttering the word.

"Not much. I think I'm going to pay a visit to Bellatrix again. Or maybe Rodolphus this time. Even Snape thinks if there's someone Voldy trusted enough it was Bellatrix. And you know Voldemort Obliviated her of some memory—it _has_ to be something to do with the Horcruxes," mused Sirius.

"Take me along then, to Azkaban. Not that I think you'll get anything out of Lestrange if she's been Obliviated," said Remus quietly. "If you don't get any information out of her, what do we do?"

"I don't know," muttered Sirius. "You know I went to her house, right? Checked every bloody inch of it… found nothing Dark enough to be a Horcrux. Remember that dark sort of vibe the Locket gave? There was nothing like that at Bella's house. Maybe I need to have a look at—"

"Kingsley's here," cut in Remus, watching the door.

The tall Auror came in, looking different in the casual Muggle clothes he'd donned. Unlike his usual genial look, Kingsley looked worried.

With a whispered word, Sirius altered the privacy charm to allow Kingsley in.

"Remus, Sirius," Kingsley greeted them both, taking a seat at the table. "Tonks told me I'd find you here."

"What is it?" Sirius asked him warily, knowing Kingsley wouldn't have come here unless it was something serious. "What happened?"

"It's Morfin Gaunt," replied Kingsley.

"Gaunt?" said Remus, "What about him?"

"You found him, then?" asked Sirius, remembering how he had found the Gaunt shack empty when he'd visited Little Hangleton last time.

"Gaunt was missing?" hissed Remus, frowning. "You never told me, Padfoot."

"We didn't find him," cut in Kingsley, "the Muggle police did."

"The police?" Sirius didn't have a good feeling about this. "What do you mean?"

"He killed a Muggle man, in the middle of the street. It's not good, Sirius. He attacked the police too—one of them is in St Mungos… the DMLE got called—the Muggle Prime Minister called Fudge… it's not good… you better come along now. Madam Bones is furious," said Kingsley.

Sirius stared at him, a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. "The Muggle he killed—"

"And elderly man, no family," said Kingsley. "But the policeman might not make it."

"Damn it!" Sirius growled, banging a fist loudly on the table.

"Padfoot—" began Remus softly.

"I got him out, Moony. I got Morfin out of Azkaban—and he's gone and killed an innocent man now! Damn it!" Sirius growled, running a hand through his hair, all the pudding he had had churning nauseatingly in his stomach at the thought of the murdered man who had died only because Sirius got a bigoted Muggle-hating lunatic out of Azkaban.

"You didn't know this would happen," said Remus quietly. "It's not your fault. You only got him acquitted because he was imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. He didn't kill the Riddles—"

"But he's killed a man now, and injured another one grievously. I should have seen this coming the moment I knew he was missing. I should have tried to track him down given his past track record. Damn it!"

He stood up. "I'll see you later, Remus. Come on, Kingsley." With that, Sirius walked out of the restaurant, feeling guiltier than he'd felt in quite a while.

 **oOo**

"I'm sorry I made you wait for me—but I got so busy doing Snape's detention," said Neville as Acquila and he walked up the staircase, "Disembowelling horned toads!" He made a face. "Thank Merlin Hermione taught me the Scouring Charm to remove the frog guts from under my fingernails—"

"It's alright, Neville." Acquila smiled at him, the thought of slimy frog guts making her lunch churn a little in her tummy.

After Neville melted his fourth cauldron in Potions the previous day, a furious Snape had given him a harrowing time at detention today, which had resulted in Neville turning up late for lunch at the Great Hall.

The bell hadn't even rung yet, but the rest of the Gryffindor fourth years had already left for Mad Eye Moody's classroom, they were so excited for their first DADA class. Fred and George were so awed by Moody, it had only made Ron and Hermione eagerly look forward to the class. To be honest, even Acquila was quite excited to learn from Mad Eye; after all, he was the one who had mentored James and Sirius and even Dora now. They'd be learning defence from one of the greatest Aurors of all time!

"I hope Moody's not like Professor Snape," said Neville a little nervously as he almost missed skipping the trick step in the staircase. "I mean, he looks so scary…"

"I doubt he'll be like Snape. He gets along really well with Dad. Even Dora likes Moody, though she was always complaining about how hard he made them work during Auror training. He's a tough taskmaster, but he's good. He's not a bully like Snape," said Acquila.

"Do you know him well?" asked Neville curiously. "Because he's related to you, I mean. Gran once told me he was in charge of House McKinnon until you—you know, were declared legally alive and everything…"

Acquila shrugged a little uneasily. With pureblood students, especially those in Slytherin, very well versed with genealogy, most of them knew that Mad Eye was related to her from her mother's side and that he'd been in charge of the McKinnon estate after her Mum was killed. That Mad Eye had kept funding the Orphanage all the years she was there was something only Harry and she knew.

The news that their new DADA professor was closely related to Acquila Black had spread pretty rapidly through the school. She'd even had Denis and Colin Creevey asking her all about what happened to Mad Eye's eye and where he lost his leg and whether he was always so jumpy and what kind of a teacher would he be. She didn't have any answers to most of their questions; she had met Mad Eye a few times but she didn't know him well at all. Whatever she knew of him was from what her Dad had told her, and Dora sometimes.

"I don't know, Neville. I've only ever spoken to him a few times," she told Neville. "But I guess he's a good teacher… he was in charge of the Auror training programme for years."

Neville nodded. "I just hope the class is better than the others we've had so far. Double Divination day before yesterday, Hagrid and his Blast Ended Screwts, Potions with Snape… it hasn't been a good start to the year so far."

"You forgot to add Herbology to the list," she told him teasingly. "All that Bubotuber pus."

"It was fun!" protested Neville. "Herbology was the best class we have had yet… Compared to the Screwts, collecting pus was so much better! At least you didn't have to try feeding frog liver to the Screwts! I still don't know where their mouths are! You're lucky you haven't taken Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid's great, but one of the Screwts exploded right on Dean's hand. Even Hermione reckons they'll only get more dangerous when they grow bigger."

"I'd rather take exploding Screwts than Arithmancy," said Acquila gloomily. "Professor Vector's cool, but Arithmancy is only getting more difficult… all the numbers and the calculations. I don't know if I'll be able to keep up with it if the lessons only get tougher. But at least Ancient Runes was great! We're working on Egyptian runes this term. It's going to be fun!"

"I hope to do better at Transfiguration this year," said Neville quietly. "Gran wants to me take Transfiguration for my NEWTs, like my Dad did… but McGonagall won't let me unless I get better at my spells, and—" Neville stopped suddenly, nudging Acquila with his shoulder.

"What—oh," said Acquila, watching Cedric Diggory walk towards them.

"I'll—I'll go ahead, alright?" said Neville, looking suddenly very awkward. Yet again, Acquila realised how weird her break up with Harry had been for her friends, especially because Ron was adamant that Cedric was to blame for what had happened.

"I'll see you at the DADA class," added Neville, almost running up the staircase.

"Looks like your friend was in a hurry," said Cedric as he made his way to Acquila. He held a hand out, which Acquila shook, smiling. "How have you been? Quite a busy first couple of days, eh? I've hardly seen you around," he said.

Acquila smiled.

Cedric grinned at her, but then seemed to hesitate a little.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"I was wondering… well, how's Draco? And his mother? Mrs Malfoy looked troubled that day… when I gave my testimony against Lucius Malfoy…" Cedric trailed off, a little uneasy.

Acquila had barely got to talk to Cedric at Lucius' trial. Cedric had led his father away almost immediately after Lucius was sentenced, avoiding the flashing lights of the media photographers and the torrent of questions they rained on him.

Because Acquila was a minor they hadn't called her to testify. They only read out her statement. But they'd made Cedric the main witness and had even asked him a handful of questions about what exactly had happened before they judged Malfoy guilty based almost entirely on Cedric's testimony. That Cedric was concerned about the wife and son of the man who almost attacked him only showed he had a good heart, Acquila thought.

"They're not doing that well." Acquila decided to be honest. "But they'll be fine. With Dad being the Lord Protector and everything… Aunt Andy and he'll be there for Aunt Narcissa, even for Draco."

"That's great." Cedric sounded a little relieved. "Anyway, I was wondering—"

Suddenly, the bell rang.

"Damn, I'm late for DADA!" exclaimed Acquila.

"You've got Moody? You better rush to class, then."

"Have you had his class yet?"

"Yes," he said. "You'll see. Now go on or you'll be late. I wanted to talk to you… but we'll catch up later?"

"Alright. Bye!" She told him, rushing up the stairs two at a time in her haste.

"—Lupin's taught you well last year, eh? Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, it says here—"

A panting Acquila heard Mad Eye Moody's voice as she rushed to the classroom. The students seemed eerily quiet, almost like it was a Potions class going on and not DADA. Remus and even Lockhart's DADA classes had always been rather noisy. But now, there was silence in the class except for Moody's gruff voice.

"Professor," said Acquila as she stood at the door. He'd kept the register away, she saw, he'd already called out their names then. She was _really_ late for Moody's first class. Damn, she shouldn't have stood there talking to Cedric.

"Come in, Black," said Mad Eye.

He, thankfully, didn't comment on her lateness as she took a seat next to Harry. Ron, Hermione and Neville had taken the chairs right in front of Moody's desk. Well, at least Mad Eye didn't look like he was one to dock House points for lateness like Snape did.

"So, while you know all about tackling Dark creatures, you're rather behind in dealing with Dark curses. We can't have that now, can we? I can't have my students all at sea when it comes to dealing with nasty curses and rogue witches and wizards—put that away, Miss Brown," said Moody.

Lavender, who'd been showing Parvati her completed horoscope, jumped and blushed, looking astonished that Mad Eye's magical eye could see through solid wood.

"You aren't even alert in my class. How do you expect to face what's out there if you aren't watchful always, huh? One moment you aren't vigilant and you could end up maimed or dead!" exclaimed Moody gruffly, his wooden foot stomping on the floor.

Some of her fellow Gryffindors seemed a little terrified at that, Acquila noticed. But Harry was watching Mad Eye keenly, almost eagerly. She knew he wanted to be good at defence, to learn how to tackle magic of the sort that Moody had fought in his long career. That Mad Eye was an Auror only added to Harry's eagerness… he wanted to be an Auror too when he was older.

"Constant Vigilance!" barked Mad Eye loudly, and Neville jumped.

"Now," went on Moody, "according to the people at the Ministry, I'm only supposed to teach you counter curses this year. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? When you don't even know how a _real_ fight is like? There's no time to think when your life's at stake… you have to be quick, act faster than you can even think. Black!" Moody barked.

Acquila, a little startled at Moody suddenly calling out her name, stood up instinctively.

"Come on here, Black! Lupin told me that you duel like your father. Let's see how good you are at defending yourself!"

Acquila walked to the front of the class, a little uneasy. Why did Moody have to mention her Dad? Agreed he'd mentored Sirius and everything, but she didn't really need that burden of standing up to her father's legacy of being a brilliant duellist.

"We need some more space, huh," muttered Moody, getting heavily to his mismatched feet, his claw-like wooden foot clacking on the stone floor. He flicked his wand swiftly, and there were sudden yelps from all the students. Startled, Acquila saw that Mad Eye had pushed all the chairs and tables away, taking the seated students along, leaving a largish expanse of place for them to duel.

"So," said Moody, standing facing Acquila now; a sudden hush fell in the classroom.

Acquila's gaze flicked to Harry for a moment. He smiled encouragingly at her. She looked back at Mad Eye, whose blue eye too was staring back at her.

She had her wand out; her heart was racing for some reason, her palms a little clammy.

She hadn't expected this, she realised suddenly, the gravity of duelling Mad Eye Moody in front of all her classmates suddenly sinking in.

She hadn't expected to fight Moody in her very first lesson! He was _Mad Eye Moody_ for Godric's sake! Auror par excellence! And he knew that Sirius and Remus had been training Harry and her over the vacations. He wouldn't hold back while duelling her.

But _why_ did he have to call her out like this? _And my magic is weak,_ she thought, panicking suddenly. _I couldn't even cast powerful spells while practicing at home. How will I fight Mad Eye?_

"Incarcerous!" exclaimed Moody suddenly.

She wasn't even ready! He hadn't even given her time to take a duelling stance!

She dodged the jet of light by a mere centimetre, her hair flying as the spell whooshed past her.

"Constant vigilance, Black!" barked Mad Eye.

The class wasn't silent anymore.

"Come on, Acquila!" she heard Ron call out.

"Constant Vigilance!" exclaimed Mad Eye again. Midway through uttering the words, his wand slashed the air again. He didn't even utter the incantation this time.

Acquila's Shield Charm came up at the very last moment, stumbling a little at the force of Mad Eye's spell.

"Not good enough, Black!" growled Mad Eye. "Defend! Take control of your magic—Deprimo!"

Acquila jumped away in the nick of time, the spot where she'd stood a moment ago now a hole in the stony floor. Moody's curse had blasted off part of the floor.

"Is that the best you've got, Black? Jumping away like a Muggle? Use your magic, girl!" said Moody, his scarred face flashing a grin that infuriated Acquila.

"Stupefy!" she exclaimed, the red jet of light from her wand rushing at Moody before he deflected it at the very last moment. But she was ready for him. She knew he was magically very powerful for her spells to get past his shields. But she knew other nifty spells that could try to contain him. That was the only way she could get him, using jinxes he wasn't expecting, aimed at his weaker spots.

She pointed her wand at the floor at his wooden foot, shouting a jinx that Remus had taught her one sunny afternoon at Black Manor last year.

The floor at Moody's foot turned into a patch of marshy quicksand, but Moody had already jumped away from it, surprisingly agile for a man with a wooden foot. She didn't stop, though. She was ready with her next spell, a Leg Locker Curse that Moody blocked easily, followed by a potent Stinging Hex at his face, which he flicked off with a lazy wave of his wand.

"You're improving, you're quicker, Black, but is this all you've got, really?" growled Mad Eye, sending a spell that came rushing at her, shining a bright maroon. She didn't even know what spell it was, seeing he wasn't casting them verbally. But the spell hit her before she could react, hitting her left arm painfully, making her feel like her arm was being stung by a hundred little creatures.

"Oww—what the—" The next spell came before she could even scream out in pain or try to soothe her arm that felt like it was afire now. It was surely a Blinding Curse, and Acquila fended it off with a well-cast Diverting Charm that had the spell turning paths and speeding right at Moody, who ducked and let it race over his head and crash into the wall behind him with a loud bang.

She used the moment to cast a Numbing spell at her own arm. It suddenly left her with no feeling in her arm, but that was better than how it was burning painfully moments ago.

When she looked back at Moody, she saw he was up already, with an effortless-seeming flick of his wand that had the teacher's table slide swiftly towards her, seeking to trap her as she backed into the wall.

"Confringo!" she cried, the first spell that came to her mind. She flung herself into the wall, turning her face away to shield it, her left arm hanging uselessly by her side. The table exploded, sending shards of wood flying all around, the students yelping and shouting.

"Stupef—" she shouted, trying to get to her feet, aiming at Moody who seemed unperturbed and unhurt. But his spell came flying at her, her quick Impediment Jinx arresting its speed as she rolled away, almost ramming into the empty chair lying there.

"Stupefy! Petrificus Totallus!" she cried again, knowing she'd misjudged him, chosen the wrong strategy. It was no use aiming at his legs or using the Marauders' jinxes. She couldn't beat him that way. She would have to use all her power, dig deep and bring out the magic that had deserted her since even before the Greyback episode. She would have to incapacitate Mad Eye or he'd have her beaten within moments.

She was already panting, tired and exhausted, her arm numb and feeling lifeless, with wooden splinters from the blasted table sticking in her hair and digging a little painfully in back of her neck which had been exposed to the blast.

"Stupefy!" she cried again, as Moody waved off her previous spells away. She cast the Jelly Fingers spell, following it up immediately with another Stunner.

But then, without even realising what she had done, without even meaning to have cast it, she saw a burst of magic fly off the tip of her wand… a spell that managed to get past Mad Eye's defence and hit him right on his good leg – the Knee Reversing Curse.

"Argh!" Moody let out a pained cry, stumbling, his knee reversing with a loud crack.

But he swiftly grabbed the table for support, still remaining standing on his wooden leg that the Curse couldn't affect. He was obviously super tolerant to pain, given his War history; but she had literally brought him to his knees, and she now noticed that his wand had slipped in his effort to grab at the table.

Jubilant, the room loud with her fellow students' cheers, she swished her wand, meaning to end it with a Stupefy as she stared into a hunched Moody's eyes, both of them glaring back at her.

That was when it happened – a presence in her mind, trying to delve in, to grab at her memories, at her thoughts— _kissing Harry in the secret passageway, watching Lucius cast the Dark Mark in the sky—_ she pushed back with all her might, furious at the intrusion. It reminded her agonisingly of what Harry had done that night, digging into her mind, pulling out thoughts she'd wanted to keep buried forever— _watching her Dad cry at her Mum's grave, watching her Mum emerge from the Locket, ghostly yet beautiful, calling out for her daughter—_ no! That was private! Her Mum, Voldemort's Locket, her Mum calling to her, _Acquila, my sweet girl, my child, Acquila—_

"NO!" she screamed aloud, throwing Moody out of her mind with all the force she could muster, her trembling legs almost buckling with all the effort she used.

When she opened her eyes, Mad Eye Moody was lying on the floor, Ron and Neville were cheering the loudest, the others clapping. If she had looked at them, she would have seen how ashen-faced some of them were.

But Acquila slowly slid to the floor, feeling suddenly weak and exhausted with all the effort she had put into pushing Moody out of her mind. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, the beginning of a nasty headache in her head, rage and bitterness wrestling each other.

Moody sat up, setting his knee right with a grumbled spell and then getting to his feet.

"There's a lot of room for improvement, Black," he growled, as she stood up on wobbly legs, making her way to her seat.

Harry was there, of course. Even seeing him reminded her that he had done similarly that day, violated her mind, grabbed at thoughts that were private, for her mind alone.

"You were good there in the end," Moody conceded, as he got into his seat, one eye on her and the artificial one on Harry, his wand held tight in his hand now. "But you can get a lot better, Black. You _need_ to. And that's what I'm here for." He turned to the class at large. "Did you see what it's out like in the real world? Did you see how good you've got to be to fight even the simplest of curses? One moment of indecision, of moment of inattention and you'll get blasted off your feet or have an Unforgivable Curse used on you. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills...copy this down—a list of defensive spells that you can use. I'm going to tell you about each one of them, the incantation, the wand movement, and you're going to take notes. And in the next class, you're all going to practice casting these spells. We have a lot of ground to cover and only one year of time left."

"What—aren't you staying?" blurted Ron.

"I'm here just this one year… special favour for a friend," he looked at Acquila as he said this. She knew he was referring to Sirius. "Next year, I'll finally get into a quiet retirement. I've had enough of training Aurors, and I don't think I can take more than a year of teaching kids like you. The would-be Aurors I train take lot less work than you do. Now, what are you waiting for? Copy this down, all of you!"

Acquila took a quill from her bag, but she didn't start writing.

This wasn't fair – Mad Eye, the spells he used, invading her mind… _Is that why Dad had him teach us this year? To prepare us for what's out there? To make sure we keep practicing spells and getting better at magic?_

But what Moody did today, it didn't seem like her Dad would approve of it. Hell, all the times Sirius had practiced magic with her, he'd never cast spells that were even half as powerful as Moody's. Remus and her Dad always held back, keeping Harry and her young age in mind.

Maybe she could tell her Dad, tell him what Mad Eye did.

But she didn't want to complain… she didn't want to act like some little girl who went running to her father… and hadn't Mad Eye made her Dad into the great Auror he was?

She would need that, if Trelawney's prophecy came true and Voldemort arose again, darker, more powerful. She would need to be strong, to improve her magic, to do all she could to keep Harry safe.

"I told you to copy that down, Black!" barked Moody.

"Yes, professor," she muttered, glancing at the blackboard and then proceeding to copy the notes down. But her hand was still trembling, a blot of ink seeping into the parchment.

She found Harry's hand slipping into her left hand, making her feel suddenly calm. The feeling of his warm palm against hers made her realise that Harry had set her numbed arm right again. She hadn't even noticed it with all the brooding she'd been doing.

She looked at him, squeezing his hand gently, meeting his eyes.

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to put his arm around her, like he always did when he wanted to comfort her. He hesitated, and then looked away from her, suddenly awkward.

She pulled her hand gently from his grasp, and began writing down notes on the Shield Charm, still uncertain about what had happened.

 **oOo**

The wooden floorboards creaked as he put another foot forward, the air heavy with the scent of dust and long disuse. The darkness only gave the long passageway a sinister tint as Severus made his way to the end of the passage, masking the sound of the creaky floor with a non-verbal spell.

When he reached the end of the narrow passage which ended in a large blank expanse of stone wall, Severus breathed in deeply, only to regret it when he inhaled the dusty odour. Kneeling down, he moved his palm along the stones that made up the wall, almost blind in the unnatural darkness that prevailed around him. He counted the uneven stones – two to the right, one down, and down and down until _there_ it was: the little engraved symbol that he now traced with his fingers. He pulled back his sleeve, and pressed his forearm to the cold stone, feeling something emerge out of the stone and make the Dark Mark on his skin feel suddenly warm.

It lasted only a second.

Before he could even get to his feet, brushing the dust of the knees of his robes, he found the stone wall sliding down into the ground.

"There you are," drawled the wizard sitting in the tall chair in the room that lay open to him now.

"Nott." Severus nodded at the man, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness of the circular room that was lit by the torches along its curving walls.

It was a storeroom in the basement of an old dilapidated Muggle factory long abandoned by its owners. During the War, Evan Rosier had magically secured it to use as a sort of safe house for him and his fellow Death Eaters. Severus hadn't been here for almost a decade and a half. But he remembered the last time he had been in the stony room, along with Regulus Black, to report on Rabastan Lestrange's successful attack on an unyielding Ministry worker.

"We thought you wouldn't come," sneered Yaxley.

"We thought you'd switched sides, become that old coot's lapdog," cackled Macnair.

"Unlike you, Macnair, I still have a job to do," Severus said coldly, taking the sole empty chair in the room. "Pesky students to teach, Dumbledore's trust to hold, Alastair Moody's suspicious gaze to evade – far more trying tasks than you have ever had to do."

Macnair scowled, making to retort heatedly. But a raised hand from Lord Theodore Nott had him remain silent.

Severus gazed around the room. Crabbe and Goyle looked strangely smaller despite their relatively big girths. It probably had to do with the absence of Lucius with them. There was Nathan Rosier; he nodded slightly at Severus. Wilkes was there too, as was Gibbon.

The Carrow siblings were missing. But they'd gone underground months ago when the Aurors had released them after interrogating them on the Greyback's whereabouts when the werewolf was on the run.

"What news do you have for us, Goyle?" Nott asked the senior Goyle. "Did you manage to speak to Narcissa Malfoy?"

"Not yet," muttered Goyle. "My mother even sent Narcissa a letter, asking to come over for the usual party the witches hold. But Narcissa only sent back a polite refusal."

"She has gone over to Black completely then," said Macnair angrily.

"She's locked herself up in Malfoy Manor," put in Crabbe. "Vincent said she didn't even take Draco to Diagon Alley this year. Lupin and that half-blood Tonks did, with Potter and Acquila Black—"

"That was more of Narcissa making a statement to the world at large," put in Nott. "For all that her father and Lucius kept her away from politics _and_ despite her questionably parentage, Narcissa grew up a Black. I always suspected she has a little of her sister's political shrewdness in her—I mean her sister Andromeda, Gibbon, not Bellatrix," Nott told Gibbon who had made to interrupt. "Bellatrix was powerful and feisty, yes, but she never quite had the cunning and diplomacy that politics requires."

"That is beside the point, Theodore," cut in Yaxley. "We aren't here to discuss the fucking Black sisters. What do we _do_ now?"

"Severus," Nott turned to him. "Crabbe and Goyle claim to have had no inkling at all of Lucius' _actions_ at the Quidditch World Cup."

A sudden hush fell across the room. Severus saw Wilkes rub unconsciously at the Dark Mark on his forearm.

"We were wondering if _you_ knew something about it. After all, Lucius and you always kept in contact, didn't you?" Nott went on.

"Not really. He did send the odd owl asking about Draco's progress at classes. But we were never close enough for him to tell me what made him resort to that extreme step," replied Severus.

"I don't get it!" burst out Macnair. "How does nobody know what was up with Lucius? What the fuck made him cast the Dark Mark at an international event?"

"That Diggory boy and Acquila Black testified that he was heavily drunk," said Nathan Rosier. "He had taken to drinking excessively lately, after what Greyback did to Draco—"

"Lucius was never a fool, Nathan," said Crabbe. "I know him since we were children. He did take to drinking lately, but he would never lose his mind enough to cast the Dark Mark and put himself in danger with the Aurors. You know how many strings he pulled to stay out of Azkaban all these years. Even Barty Crouch and Amelia Bones couldn't get him convicted. He would never have done something like this… unless…" he trailed off uneasily.

"Unless the Dark Lord made contact with him," completed Nott. "Unless the Dark Lord reached out to him, instructed Lucius to do something like this—"

"It makes no sense!" exclaimed Yaxley. "Why would the Dark Lord contact Lucius first when all of us have been far more loyal to him? You know how Lucius had gotten the last time we met: telling us to keep low and contribute to the bloody Werewolf fund and keep away from anything Dark because he was bloody scared of Black sniffing around us like a blood hound—he as good as turned his back on the Dark Lord—"

"The Dark Lord doesn't know that—" put in Wilkes.

"The Dark Lord knows everything!" roared Macnair. "He chose Lucius for a reason! He had Lucius cast the Dark Mark for a reason, to tell us that he is back, waiting for us to join him again!"

"Lucius is in Azkaban now," ventured Rosier, "He could have already lost half his wits for all we know. We don't even know for certain that the Dark Lord—"

"Why else would a man as prudent as Malfoy do something that was sure to land him in Azkaban?" cried Yaxley. "And in front of Black's daughter, for Salazar's sake! Lucius was upset after Draco got turned, but he wasn't an idiot, Nathan! He wouldn't land himself in Azkaban unless he was made to, _forced_ to even—"

"I don't know what to do!" cut in Wilkes, who had been silent yet. "I don't know! I keep thinking the Aurors will come knocking on my doors any moment—you know how it was when Greyback attacked the orphanage… high and mighty ones like Nathan and you remained safe, Lord Nott, but it was us little fish Black sent his hounds after—they came looking for me, they detained Alecto and Amycus—I fear they'll come for me again, to question us, to know what we are up to, to know whether the Dark Lord is truly returned—whether _we_ are returning to his fold again—"

"He's right," ventured Gibbon, staring at Wilkes who was trembling now. "I've been keeping a low profile too… I keep wondering what I should do—the Mark's getting darker every day… if the Aurors get their hands on me, if they even know we've all gathered here today, they'll have me locked up in no time… I kept looking over my shoulder while coming here today—I'm afraid… but—but if the Dark Lord _is_ truly back, I should go look for him, offer my loyalty to him again… I don't know what to do…"

Nott said nothing, while Nathan Rosier watched not the two frightened men but Yaxley and Nott.

"I—I have tried to look for him," admitted Yaxley quietly. "But if the Dark Lord is truly returned, he does not want to be found yet. I have looked everywhere, all our old safe houses and the Dark Lord's favourite haunts. But our Master is nowhere."

"But he shall need us!" exclaimed Macnair. "He shall need his faithful followers! Why is he not reaching out to us? Why won't he let us serve him again?"

"Because he already has someone working for him," said Nott quietly. "Or he would have demanded our services long before now."

"Tell me truly," said Yaxley, "Has the Dark Lord established contact with any of you? Theodore? Nathan? Severus?"

"No," Severus' tone was calm and direct. "I do not know where he is. Nor do I intend to go looking for him yet, not when I have Moody keeping a watch on me every minute of the day."

Severus wasn't lying about Moody. His magical eye always seemed focussed on Severus, watching and watching and watching for the slightest sign of suspicious behaviour. Coupled with his deep hatred of Death Eaters, his paranoia, and the fact that Black hadn't told his former mentor of the Unbreakable Vow that ensured Severus could never harm Lily's son, Moody's suspicions weren't unwarranted given Severus' history with the Dark Lord's followers.

Even the Dark Lord himself had told Severus not to come seeking him at Riddle Manor. It wouldn't do to have one of his only two servants caught venturing out of Hogwarts at unusual hours by Mad Eye Moody.

As for lying to his fellow wizards about not knowing of the Dark Lord's whereabouts, Severus preferred to keep it that way for now. The Dark Lord, for reasons Severus _could_ fathom, had agreed for his followers to remain in the dark about his location and the fact that Barty Crouch Junior was alive and that Severus was aiding him.

He trusted no one, the Dark Lord. He didn't even trust Severus yet… he wouldn't, not until he did what the Dark Lord would demand of him when the time arose. It wasn't something Severus was looking forward to, but something he would have to do when the Dark Lord commanded him to, whatever the task may be.

"If there was someone the Dark Lord would want back in his service, I think it is you, Theodore," Severus went on, deftly diverting the attention to Nott. "With Lucius joining the Lestranges in Azkaban, you are the highest-ranking Death Eater among us all now. Your wealth, your position on the Wizengamot… if the Dark Lord will contact someone, it will no doubt be you… unless he has already done so."

"He hasn't," admitted Nott gruffly. "I do not know where he is. I would give anything to know of him. Black is rising rapidly—the protectorship of House Malfoy… it doesn't send out a good signal to the lower ranks of our fellow followers. Even though Lucius has nothing to do with Narcissa's decision, it is seen as House Malfoy surrendering to Sirius Black, to Harry Potter even. Sirius already got the Werewolf Act passed, he got Umbridge out of her job, he put Urquhart in Barty Crouch's job, created a new official post for Lupin, got Moody to teach at Hogwarts… his power is rising, and we need to nip it soon before he has even the fence-sitters eating out of his hands. We _need_ the Dark Lord for that… to galvanise those who aren't here today, to bring back those who have left us, to get back all that we have lost and stand to lose."

"I will look for him again," vowed Yaxley. "I won't stop until we find him."

"You will tell me, then, if the Dark Lord makes himself known to you?" said Gibbon. "I am going underground. I cannot risk being taken by the Aurors again. You know where to find me if need be."

"Both of us as well," said Crabbe. "With Lucius imprisoned, Goyle and I look up to you to take over, Theodore. We—we were questioned by Rufus Scrimgeour after Lucius was arrested."

Goyle wiped at his brow. "So many questions, and Savage shouting at us, twirling his wand—you do not know how terrifying it was. I will not be detained by them again, Theodore… I do not even have Lucius to protect my family and me now. Gregory and Gertrude… I have to think of my wife and my son too. I cannot be found looking for the Dark Lord. Black has his informers everywhere. But if you find the Dark Lord, I shall return to his service, I promise I swear… I shall surrender myself to him and his mercy…"

"You share Goyle's sentiments, I presume, Nathan?" Nott turned to Rosier.

"I shall wait and watch," Nathan Rosier said with a smile.

"We are done here, then," said Nott, standing up. "We shall not meet again. So many of us at one place, we cannot risk being watched or espied or caught. Yaxley and I shall look for the Dark Lord. _When_ he reveals himself to us, I shall contact you the usual way."

"You shall inform us of any developments, Severus?" asked Crabbe. "After all, Dumbledore always knows everything, and the man trusts you."

"Of course," said Severus. "I shall tell you what I find out."

"Until next time, then," said Nott, "and if all goes well, we shall have the Dark Lord presiding over us when we see each other next. And it shall be the beginning of Black's fall from power—and what a bloody and fatal fall it shall be for the pesky dog!"

With that, Severus swept out of the room, robes billowing around him, a queer sense of foreboding descending upon him.

 **oOo**

"I'm really glad I read through the chapter during the holidays," said Hermione as they walked out of the Arithmancy classroom.

"I didn't get half the stuff Professor Vector explained," muttered Acquila glumly. "I didn't know Arithmancy would be _this_ tough. Maybe I'll drop the subject later on."

She didn't want to, though. She knew a good NEWT grade in Arithmancy made it easier getting to work with the Department of Mysteries. She didn't want to give up the subject. She'd have to work harder… there was no other choice.

"We can do some of the charts together," said Hermione reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll get through it. It's not as tough as it seems once you've grasped the basic concept. And you always have Cedric to help you with it, huh?" The bushy-haired girl winked teasingly.

Acquila giggled, suddenly relieved that Hermione was joking around with her again. Conversations between them had been a little stilted since Hermione had got to know of her break up with Harry. Acquila could very well understand the kind of dilemma it had put Hermione in… but it _had_ hurt a little, having one of her best friends be all awkward and hesitant with her.

They chattered all the way to the Great Hall, about Moody's latest class and the new Weird Sisters' single that had released over the weekend, and how they both preferred Muggle bands to wizarding ones. It was nice having that in common with Hermione – their Muggle upbringing, their shared love for Muggle music and movies that Ron and Neville and even her Dad never quite understood. Harry was brought up by Muggles too… but the Dursleys had never taken him to the theatres to watch movies unlike how Mrs Smith sometimes took the kids from the orphanage. It brought a little pang in her heart, the thought of Mrs Smith… sometimes it felt like a dull, constant ache, that she'd lost the only woman who'd been a mother to her.

She shook her head, strangely looking forward to seeing Harry, who was probably in the Common Room with Ron and Neville, enjoying their free lecture. Her stomach grumbling a little, Acquila walked down the staircase, listening to Hermione go on about the plays her parents had taken her for over the holidays.

"Acquila!" Someone called out to her just as they were entering the Great Hall.

Recognising the voice, Acquila turned around. "Hello, Cedric."

"I'm glad I found you here," said Cedric, smiling at Hermione and her, panting a little, looking like he'd run all the way to them.

"What for?" Acquila asked him curiously.

"Well, we've barely spoken to each other recently. I thought we could… catch up, you know. How about we go for a walk?"

Acquila hesitated; she was a little hungry, and with the sun so harsh outside, it wasn't quite the time for a walk. But she could have a late lunch; she had the next hour free anyway, with the others having Care of Magical Creatures. A beseeching little smile from Cedric made up her mind.

"Alright," she told him. "I'd like that."

Cedric grinned, something about his smile making her tummy flop a little.

"Hermione, don't wait for me," she told Hermione. "I'll have lunch later if I get back late."

"Okay," said Hermione, looking curious, giving her a rather conflicted sort of smile.

"So," said Acquila as she walked out of the Castle and onto the lawns with Cedric. "Isn't it too sunny for a walk?"

"Let's keep to the trees by the Great Lake, then," he said, smiling.

Acquila smiled back, wondering why he'd suddenly sought her out for a walk. The last time they'd done this hadn't ended up well – with Lucius Malfoy and the Dark Mark.

"Let's hope this walk doesn't go the way of the last one," she told him teasingly.

Cedric only laughed. "Come on, this way."

"Where are we going?" She asked him when he led her in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Distaste pricked at her as she watched the tall towering trees in the distance. She hadn't come to the Forest since the night of the Greyback incident. She sure as hell didn't want to go anywhere near it.

"You'll know when we reach there," replied Cedric.

"You're sounding secretive," she complained.

"Not at all," he told her, "Let's talk about something else, huh?"

"You can't even be subtle about it!" she laughed. "Tell me, where are we going?"

"You'll see," he told her vaguely. "Now, about changing the topic—umm, how about how you beat Professor Moody in the duel? Everyone was talking about it."

"I didn't beat him, not really. I guess he's a little lenient here in Hogwarts. My Dad told me grown men cry when they're training under him," she muttered, feeling uneasy at the memory of Moody tinkering around in her mind. News of the class had spread around the school pretty soon; even Fred and George had seemed in awe of her when they found out she'd lasted that long against Mad Eye Moody. But only Harry knew how the memory of that duel made her uncomfortable instead of proud.

"That's not what I heard," quipped Cedric. "That little Creevey fellow was telling everyone you had Moody bound up in ropes and your wand pointed at him as he kept saying _I yield_." Cedric's lips were twitching, a twinkle in his eyes.

"You know that's bullshit, don't you?" she laughed. "If all the rumours were true, Harry and I would've had dinner with the entire Auror Force every night of the vacations, and Aunt Andy would have been the real power in the Ministry."

"Nah, the real power's your father," Cedric chuckled. "That's what everyone says, even my Dad and his colleagues."

"Is it?" Acquila frowned. She did have an idea about what people thought about her Dad, but it was strange hearing it from someone else. Oh, the newspapers too frequently implied that Lord Sirius Black III had more power in the Ministry than a mere Auror should, but they were never so direct about it.

"What else do people say?" asked Acquila curiously. "About us all, in general… my family, I mean."

"Only that your Aunt Andromeda's got a lot of friends in the Wizengamot, your Uncle Ted has a lot of influence over Professor Dumbledore because he's on the Board of Governors, that your father and Minister Fudge are the best of buddies, and that you looked really pretty giving your statement against Lucius Malfoy trial…"

"They say all that, do they?" Acquila raised an eyebrow. Oh, she could believe the first three – her father and Aunt Andy's political mechanisations had been noticed by one and all. It wasn't surprising that people knew that so many members and friends of the Black family were in positions of power, whether it was Aunt Andy on the Black family seat on the Wizengamot or Helphius Urquhart, who rather apparently owed his new position as Head of the International Magical Co-operation Department to his friendship with her Dad.

"They do say the first three, but that last point was all mine. You _were_ looking really pretty that day…" said Cedric. Acquila met his eyes, feeling suddenly coy, looking for something witty to say in reply. But the smile her gave her only made her blush a little, and she looked away, suddenly a little uncertain of herself. Maybe this walk wasn't such a good idea. Damn, this wasn't even a walk that Cedric had suggested on a whim, was it? He seemed pretty sure of where he was leading her to… Perhaps she shouldn't have come… made up some excuse and avoided him like she'd done a couple of times before when—

"And we've reached!" exclaimed Cedric, stopping beneath the large oak, its branches spread far and wide, casting dark shadows on the wild grasses that grew in its shade, the waters of the lake rippling gently a few metres away, shimmering yellow and gold under the bright sun.

"This is a nice place," she said, watching the reflection of the leaves fluttering in the lake as a gentle breeze flew past her. The waters of the Great Lake were clear here; she could even see the little fish weaving through the weeds that grew at the shallow bottom of the lake, their scales glimmering in the sunlight, swimming too fast for her eyes to follow. She looked around her, a little entranced; the mountains stood tall and proud in the distance, the sun beaming at her from between the clouds.

"This is a beautiful place," she said, turning around to smile at Cedric, only to see that he'd laid out a carpet, on which was a basket that contained something that smelt delicious.

"A picnic!" said Acquila, a little surprised, and – she had to admit it – rather pleased with it.

She took off her shoes, feeling the soft grasses tickle her feet, and then sat down beside him, leaning against the trunk of the oak that stood over them, noting how the Castle was now hidden from view, the tall shrubs and grasses in the distance towering a little over their seated selves.

"I thought we could… you know—I don't know, talk and eat, I guess," Cedric seemed to be searching for words, but when she smiled at him, he was more at ease. "I smuggled sandwiches out of the kitchen. The elves were very helpful when I told them I wanted something for a picnic with Acquila Black. You're pretty famous among the elves, huh?"

"That comes with having a father who spent more time in the Hogwarts kitchen than in his classes," she told him as he handed her a sandwich. Sirius had told them where the kitchen was… she had never yet gone there… well, she'd need to pay the elves a visit soon, she thought, deciding that the sandwich tasted better than even the food at the Welcoming Feast for some reason. She'd go to the kitchens one day with Harry, she decided. He would like that… he knew how much of food the Marauders had charmed the elves into giving them over the years… and they could pay Dobby a visit too. They hadn't met the elf since last Christmas Eve when he'd helped them spike Professor Slughorn's drink with alcohol to make him part with the Horcrux memory… The thought of that night reminded her of what had happened after – getting drunk on the Firewhiskey in that secret passage, kissing Harry, needing and wanting and— _damn_ it!

Suddenly, the sandwich didn't taste all that great anymore. She thought of Harry, back in the Great Hall, waiting for her maybe, wondering where she was, wondering what she was doing with Cedric— _no_! It wasn't helping, thinking of this. Whatever they had was done with. Harry—they weren't together anymore. It was unnecessary, thinking of Harry… _then why is it hurting me so?_ she asked herself, wondering whether that emotion that was pricking at her now was despair, of that now familiar void within her mind and heart where Harry had been so very deeply entrenched until recently.

"—surprise you?" Cedric's voice roused her from her thoughts. Damn, she hadn't even heard what he said, but she could fathom a guess.

"Yes, this is a surprise, and a really great one," she told him, watching how the sunlight made his eyes look blue than grey.

"So," said Cedric, sitting down beside her, his hair flying softly in the breeze. "How has Hogwarts been so far?"

"Pretty good," she told him. "How has sixth year been for you? Quidditch Captain, Prefect and future Hogwarts Triwizard champion if the rumours are to be believed."

There was a lot of speculation about which of the students would compete in the tournament, about the criteria for selecting the champion for Hogwarts. Fred and George were already planning tricks to get past the age limit that Dumbledore spoke of, while Angelina Johnson was certainly going to try for it.

"I _am_ going to put my name in for the Triwizard Tournament," said Cedric easily. "If I do get chosen, it'll be a great honour. I mean, this tournament is taking place after years! If I win it—hell, if I'm even chosen to represent Hogwarts, it'll be such a great thing. My Dad will be so proud… It's a little scary of course. I've already heard rumours about what the tasks are going to be."

"I've heard some of them." Acquila laughed. "I'm pretty sure Fred and George cooked up half the stories."

"No wonder," chuckled Cedric. "They sounded too creative to be true."

"I hope you'll win the tournament," she told him genuinely.

"Thank you," he said, smiling easily.

They went on like that, talking about random things. He told her about his parents, how his Dad thought the world of his only child, and how he was always a little lonely growing up because his parents remained underground for quite a while during and after the War because his Mum was a Muggleborn. She told him a little about her childhood too – about Mrs Smith caring for her, and some of the accidental magic she'd done as a child, and how shocked she'd been when McGonagall came to tell her about her place at Hogwarts.

It was strange, Acquila realised, how every memorable thing in her life, every little matter, most of the memories she had of her life, contained Harry. Even when she thought back to the day when McGonagall came to visit her at the orphanage, she remembered how happy she'd been to know that Harry would be at Hogwarts with her too. When she told Cedric of the cakes Mrs Smith baked her for each of her birthdays, she remembered the card Harry had given her for her ninth birthday, the boy and the girl drawn in his rather inartistic hand, made so adorable because of the effort he'd put in colouring in the pretty blue dress he'd drawn for the girl, remembering how Acquila had once told him she loved the blue dress worn by Cinderella in the Disney movie. When she told Cedric of her time at the Muggle school, she remembered those early days with Harry, when they were still getting to know each other, all awkward and shy around each other… the first time she'd held his hand, the time she'd called him to join her on the swing, Harry squeezing in next to her, and then shyly putting his arm around her waist so that she wouldn't fall off when she swung the swing higher and higher up.

 _He's a part of my life,_ she thought, _an inseparable part of my life, even without the Bond._ They hadn't known they were soul mates back then, in Muggle school. But that hadn't stopped them from being the best of friends, from caring for each other, finding immense joy in the little smiles that she always brought on Harry's face, the fierce protectiveness she felt for Harry when Dudley sent his vile barbs at him, that wintry snowy morning when Petunia Dursley sent Harry to school with a rather tattered sweater, and how Acquila had had him share her large cloak, both of them huddled close together for warmth, Harry's head resting on her shoulder as she told him one of the tales she'd heard from Mrs Smith.

There was something churning within her now – loss and longing, the feeling that she'd done something wrong, the feeling that nothing would ever be the same again, that something had broken, perhaps irreparably.

But it was done now. Whatever Harry and she had was over. He had walked out on her; she hadn't stopped him. She'd got what she always wanted – to put the Soul Bond behind them. She couldn't even sense him as intensely as she'd done over the summer, she couldn't feel his presence in her mind every waking moment, she couldn't feel his emotions as acutely as she felt her own. She was her own person now; like she'd wanted.

 _Then why does it still hurt so bad?_ she wondered. _Why do I feel like there's a big hole inside of me?_

"You alright?" Cedric roused her from her brooding. "You seemed lost there for a moment."

"I'm okay," she told him quickly.

They heard the peal of the school bell from the Castle, signalling the end of lunch time.

"We should leave," she told him.

"We could sit here longer if you want to." He smiled at her. "I have a free class now. Same as you." His eyes were twinkling.

"Did you track my timetable or something?" she asked him, chuckling.

He laughed a little sheepishly. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Of course, I did," she told him honestly. She had liked talking to him. Agreed they didn't have many topics in common; but it was still nice getting to know him, having him be so interested in what she had to say.

"I'm glad you did. I was a little nervous, I must admit. I mean, it isn't every day I arrange a picnic date with a pretty girl like you." Cedric smiled.

"A date, huh?" said Acquila softly, feeling suddenly uneasy and eager and delighted and guilty all at the same time.

"Yes, I'd call it a date," Cedric grinned easily. "You know I've been meaning to ask you out for months now. But I guess the timing wasn't right, eh? This time I decided to just… surprise you, I guess. Skip the whole waiting to find you without being surrounded by your friends and asking you out thing."

"That was rather sneaky of you." Acquila smiled. But within, her insides seemed to be dancing vigorously in her tummy. She wasn't ready for this, really. She hadn't expected Cedric to do this – plan a picnic for her and everything… a _date_ with Cedric Diggory.

"You alright?" Cedric looked suddenly concerned. Acquila wondered whether she looked as confused as she was feeling. _Blacks never display their thoughts on their face, girl,_ Phineas' voice rang out in her mind for a moment, making her half want to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"I'm fine… just surprised, I guess." She managed a smile.

He grinned back brightly, making her smile widen for some reason, her tummy flopping in a rather eager way again.

"So, as I was saying," began Cedric again, pushing his hair off his brow, "I'm not expecting a reply from you this very second or something. But I do want to go out with you… properly, _seriously."_

She stared at him, her breaths suddenly quickening, her heart racing wildly. She ran a hand through her hair, perplexed, not seeming to find the right words, not knowing what to say.

"Well, I—" she began, her throat suddenly dry, gazing at how Cedric's own breaths seemed to have quickened, how blue his eyes looked as he came closer to her, how she could literally count the faint freckles on his face if she tried to.

He gently tipped her face up, his fingers at her chin, leaning in towards her, a question in his eyes. She found herself nodding, alight with anticipation, her limbs feeling like jelly, gazing at just how handsome Cedric was, how warm his breath felt on her face, how gentle his lips were when they touched hers, slowly at first and then rather welcomingly insistent as he put an arm around her waist, tugging her closer. She could taste the Butterbeer he'd just drunk, every nerve pleasantly afire as his lips moved against hers, her hand hesitant as it settled on the nape of his neck, his hair tickling her palm.

It was short, and sweet, and probably everything a good first kiss should be like… For a moment, she was reminded of something else, though – the memory of Harry's mouth devouring hers in that secret passage the very first time they'd kissed… the feel of Harry's tongue caressing hers, his hand on her breast, feeling him hard against her thigh, that desperate need for him, her frenzied breaths and her hands tugging at his hair to prolong the kiss, never wanting to get his mouth off hers, enveloped in that heady scent that belonged to Harry, feeling his hand on the small of her back, that dizzy feeling of yearning and wanting and finding when she straddled him, moving against him, feeling him against her in the most delightful way that made all of her seem to tingle with something she couldn't ever put into words.

 _But that will never happen again,_ she told herself sternly, feeling that desolate longing again. _That chapter is closed now. I cannot look back at it. It ended for the best. It's all done now._

"Acquila?" said Cedric softly, his eyes alight now, grinning so happily it only made him look more handsome.

"Yes," she told him quietly, smiling. " _Yes_."

 **oOo**

"I knew it! It was happening right in front of our eyes!" Ron fumed. "I'd told you, hadn't I?" Ron looked at Neville, who was sitting at the foot of Harry's four poster bed. "Tell him, Neville! How we'd predicted Diggory's going to snatch Acquila away!"

"Ron," said Neville a little awkwardly. "This isn't the time to talk of that. We should give Harry some space. This must be tough for him to take."

It was evident that Ron had taken Acquila's _date_ with Cedric as a personal affront or something. Additionally, Ron seemed to think that the best way to support Harry was by complaining about Acquila or Cedric whenever the three of them were alone without the girls around.

"See, she's made Harry so upset, he isn't even saying anything!" sighed Ron. "You don't worry, mate. Acquila doesn't deserve you at all!" He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry suppressed a sigh. Oh, he knew Ron meant well. He only sought to be a good friend to him. But this wasn't exactly the way to go about raising Harry's spirits.

"Ron, why don't we go check out the new toffees Fred and George made. Denis Creevey's volunteered for tasting them—come, it'll be fun," said Neville tactfully.

"You should come too, Harry!" said Ron. "It'll be fun to watch if the new ones are anything like the one that had Seamus turn all purple the other day."

"Nah, I'll just turn in early tonight, alright?" said Harry quietly, putting on a smile.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I am." Harry waved the two boys away, settling in onto his four poster bed.

Hurt and envy grappled within him as he wondered what Acquila was up to at this very moment.

Was she holding hands with Cedric Diggory? Kissing him maybe? The very thought of it made him want to rage and scream, throw things around, or maybe just crawl under the covers and never sit back up again.

This was very unlike him, he knew, these extreme feelings he was having. But there was nothing he could do about it.

He shouldn't be dwelling on it, he knew. But he couldn't help but think back to that moment when he'd walked into the Great Hall, seen that Acquila wasn't at the table with Hermione, and got a very funny feeling within. Hermione telling him that Acquila had gone for a walk with Cedric had only made his heart sink.

When he'd watched Acquila sheepishly walk up to him later that day, defiant yet slightly guilty, embarrassed yet beseeching him to understand, he had only heard her mutely when she told him that Cedric had taken her out on a date of sorts.

She hadn't needed to say anything else. One look at her and he knew it all – how she was sort of with Cedric now, how she'd let the older boy snog her under the tree— _damn it!_ He didn't need to think of that now.

It was strange how the Bond between them – one that he'd valued and cherished mere days earlier – only evoked detest and revulsion in him now.

Oh, he couldn't _sense_ Acquila like he could do before their break up. He couldn't sense her in his mind all the time, nor could he sense her thoughts like he'd been able to do before. But that didn't mean he didn't know what was going on with her. He could still feel faint traces of whatever she was feeling – a sense of newness and curiosity, eagerness and anticipation, coyness and delight… there was pain and guilt and longing too, right beneath the surface of all the new sentiments she was feeling. But that wasn't enough to assuage Harry's hurt.

He couldn't help but wince when he thought of her with Diggory, imagined the Hufflepuff holding her hand, or tucking an errant strand of dark hair behind her ear, listening to her laughter and having her smile those secret smiles at him. It hurt him like someone had slashed him deeply with a Slicing Curse, imagining Diggory kissing her, having his hands run through her hair, holding her tightly against him – everything Harry _still_ wanted to be the one doing.

But what hurt worse was wondering whether Diggory would be the one who'd get to spend all his mealtimes with her now. Maybe she'd go to Hogsmeade with Diggory and not them now. Maybe she'd spend every free class with him instead of spending it with Hermione, Ron, Neville and him. Maybe she'd go and watch Diggory's Quidditch sessions now instead of Harry's… maybe she'd spend hours and hours talking to Diggory instead of Harry. Not that he'd been talking to her a lot lately… but it was still something they'd shared for years now – being each other's best friends, confidantes, the one person he trusted over anyone else, even Sirius… she knew all about him, everything there was to know. She'd been there for him since almost forever – been his first friend in Muggle school, the only one who knew the extent of what he'd faced at the Dudley's, the only one he'd freely spoken to about his childhood, the only one who had been there with him through thick and thin – the day they'd first met Sirius and found a family, the one who'd faced Quirrel with him, the one who'd put her life in danger to battle with Ginny-Voldemort, the one who knew the sickening fear he felt when Sirius fought for his life after Greyback's pack attacked him, the one who'd been with him when they'd visited his parents' graves at Godric's Hollow—she'd been everywhere, been with him through it all, understood him like no one else had… It wouldn't be the same anymore, would it? Diggory would take over now. She wouldn't have time for Harry. They wouldn't be friends like they'd been for so many years.

She wasn't _his_ now, despite everything, despite all they'd gone through together, despite all the precious moments they'd had, good and bad, happy and heartbreaking. She wasn't his anymore, despite being bloody soul mates! And that hurt him most of all.

These morbid thoughts didn't leave Harry alone for days after that. In front of Acquila, he acted like he was happy for her. He wondered if she had bought his act – he wished she didn't, so that she'd know how hurt he was and maybe set everything right again; but he also hoped she didn't know… it made him feel puny, her knowing he still had feelings for her when she had clearly moved on.

He wondered what would have happened if they hadn't broken up that day. Would she still have been with Harry? Or was that never meant to be? Maybe they'd have broken up anyway and Acquila was meant to go with Diggory? The questions plagued him often, unanswered.

It only got worse over the next few days.

Though Acquila tried not to show off her budding relationship of sorts with Cedric, it was becoming obvious to everyone that they were seeing each other. Oh, Acquila tried to keep Harry away from it all. She rarely discussed her time with Cedric when all of them were present. But sometimes, Harry saw her talking to Hermione about it. The girls used to gossip and giggle in one corner when Harry, Ron and Neville were busy doing homework.

When she began sitting with Diggory at the Hufflepuff table sometimes, though, the whispers got louder. When a couple of chatty Hufflepuffs saw them walking arm in arm by the Lake one evening, it got _everyone_ talking about the new couple.

Worse was when some girls would come up to Harry and ask him if Acquila was really dating Cedric. They knew he was her best friend, and assumed he would know every detail.

It hurt Harry like hell, but he couldn't tell any of this to anyone at all. Nobody would understand; none of his friends knew about the Bond.

Anyway, Ron still kept grumbling about it all; he said that it was affecting Harry's Quidditch practice and that it was Cedric's entire conspiracy all along. Neville kept giving him hopeful words and commiserating looks. Hermione told him that everything would be fine, and he would get over this in time, and that he needed to move on slowly.

Fred and George, though, cheered him up sometimes. Once, Acquila received a rose along with a note with Cedric's name on it. As soon as she picked it up, it squirted green ink all over her face! But his spirits rose only for a little while as he struggled to contain his laughter as a green-faced Acquila chased the twins all over the Common Room, swearing bloody revenge.

The only one he could talk to about Acquila and the Bond was Sirius. Oh, he was a little hesitant about it given how Sirius was Acquila's father after all. But Sirius would understand him; Harry knew he would. But he couldn't talk to Sirius about any of this, because Acquila hadn't told him yet!

Sirius was in blissful ignorance about Acquila and Diggory's relationship. Agreed it had only been a couple of weeks since they'd been going out. But it wasn't like Acquila to keep secrets from Sirius, especially such a big matter; which only meant she wasn't sure about Cedric or perhaps she knew Sirius wouldn't respond to this nicely. To be honest Harry wanted to tell Sirius about it all, crib about Diggory with him, maybe look forward to Sirius threatening to flay the Hufflepuff if he hurt Acquila… but he wouldn't do that… he _couldn't_ do that. It was for Acquila to tell her father… it wasn't Harry's place to tell, no matter how much he wanted to.

And so it went on – Harry grappling with emotions that ranged from one extreme to another. Sometimes, he just felt cold and indifferent to it all, deciding all the heartache wasn't worth it, and maybe he should move on from it all. But sometimes, he felt so sad and gloomy, he just couldn't help but brood, picking at his food moodily, and wishing the skies were clear enough to go for a long broomstick ride.

Strangely, it took Luna Lovegood to make him feel better.

"Don't do this, Harry," she told him seriously in the corridor once gloomy afternoon. "You're only making it worse, don't you see? Your aura's turning darker and darker day by day, and I'm rather afraid you'll disappear into it one day. I don't have too many friends, Harry. But you are one of the few I have. I don't want you to disappear, Harry, I really, _really_ don't want that."

Staring into her dreamy, wide eyes, Harry decided that Luna was right.

Oh, he knew he wouldn't disappear, of course. But all this brooding and moping was only making him bitter. It wasn't helping anything or anyone.

Acquila was with Diggory now; that couldn't be helped.

It was time for Harry to let it go… it would be hard, of course. It would be very, very hard. But he would do it, he _had_ to start some time… perhaps, it ought to be now.

 **oOo**

"I don't know why we couldn't have Disapparated," said Kingsley conversationally, as they walked towards the Ministry, watching the crowd of Muggles walk quickly past them.

"I like walking," muttered Sirius, "helps me think."

Kingsley only grunted in agreement.

"You seem worried," Sirius told his fellow Auror, noticing how Kingsley was frowning.

"Auror Travis at Azkaban says you visited the prison last week," said Kingsley.

"I did," said Sirius carefully.

"You used my name again, he says," went on Kingsley as if nothing was amiss, but there was an undercurrent of wariness in his voice. "You told him I asked you to survey the security of the prison."

"I'm sorry," said Sirius. "I should've told you."

"It isn't that," said Kingsley. "I don't mind you using my authority to go to Azkaban. But at least let me know, yeah? What's going on?"

Sirius thought back to that day last year – Voldemort sneaking into Azkaban, Obliviating Bellatrix of her memories, having Proudfoot attacked by the Dementors…

"Remember what I'd told you back then?" said Sirius, "During the whole Proudfoot incident? About gradually taking the Dementors out of Azkaban? I sort of put it on the back burner with all the Greyback mess and the Werewolf Rights Act… but now, do you think we should go ahead with it? Have a dedicated force guard Azkaban rather than the Dementors? Tell me honestly, Kingsley. You know I value your views."

"What you're saying has merit," mused Kingsley, "The Dementors have been so restless recently, almost as if they're waiting for something… _someone…"_ The tall Auror had a faraway look in his eyes; Sirius knew he was remembering Voldemort's wraith fleeing past their wards – a cloud of black dust with those frightening red eyes staring at them, promising retribution.

"It must be on the top of his agenda," said Sirius quietly, casting a quick Muffliato. "Breaking all his followers out of Azkaban. He only has Crouch with him now; and he's useless because he knows we're on the lookout for him. Voldemort will want more followers to do his bidding. The most loyal of them are rotting in Azkaban. He'll want to break them out… and if your hunch is right, he'll use the Dementors, turn them against us…"

Kingsley nodded, worried.

"I'll speak to Andy. Prepare the ground for it," said Sirius.

"Nobody will agree. People sleep peacefully at night because they know the Death Eaters are locked up in Azkaban with the Dementors guarding them. If we speak of taking them off the island, it won't find easy acceptance, even with Minister Fudge. And this will require the Wizengamot's approval, the DMLE—hell, even Scrimgeour won't stand for this so easily. Even if we phase out the Dementors, raising teams proficient enough to guard Azkaban will take years, Sirius—"

"But we can start now. We _need_ to," he said, remembering Trelawney's prophecy about Voldemort returning stronger and darker.

Kingsley was silent for a long time. Then he nodded, saying nothing for a long moment. "Does this have anything to do with Lestrange too?" he asked finally. "You met her, didn't you? You didn't go there only to check the defences? Is this related to the Obliviated memory? You won't even tell me what it was."

Sirius met Kingsley's curious gaze. The man had stood by him since his reinstatement in the Auror Force, even bypassing rules at times to help Sirius have his way. It didn't seem right hiding things from Kingsley, especially when the man was helping him with visiting Bella despite having no official sanction to enter Azkaban.

"I'll tell you," he promised Kingsley. "Soon."

An hour later, Sirius was in the atrium of the Ministry, musing over Bellatrix and the Obliviated memory and his utmost certainty that it had to do with a Horcrux… perhaps, even the Cup of Hufflepuff that he'd seen in Hokey's memory: the golden cup with badger engraved on it, the flash of red in a young Voldemort's eyes… He wasn't even sure the Horcrux Bellatrix had been entrusted with was the Cup, but he could imagine it: Voldemort handing over the cup to an overjoyed Bellatrix, full of gratitude that her Master had entrusted her something precious, her dark curls streaming down all around her ecstatic face, those dark, glimmering eyes, that joyous laughter he'd loved listening to when he was just a little boy and Bella was just his older cousin… oh, she could be frightening if she wanted to, even slapping him once when he'd made her mad. But once, she'd let him sleep in her bed and held him close when the loud thunder outside had frightened him. He was just a little boy then, but it was one of the clearest memories of his childhood: knocking at Bella's door, knowing Mother and Father would yell at him if he told them he was afraid of the thunder… worried Bella would jeer and laugh at him too… but she hadn't. She had let him snuggle into her warm side and told him some magical tale that he'd long forgotten, unlike this memory which was so fresh in his mind despite the years that had passed by and the insurmountable schism that had put an end to what Bella and he had once shared.

"Damn," he grumbled under his breath. Visiting Bella in— _Bellatrix,_ not Bella! Bellatrix, damn it! Meeting her brought back long-forgotten memories… picnics by the lake with Bella, Andy, Cissa and Reg… Grandmother Melanie regaling them with stories… getting lost in the woods behind Gamp Manor with Cissy once, and the joy and relief when Bella and Andy had finally found them at night, lost and cold and trembling under one of the giant oak trees, huddled into each other for warmth. He remembered Reggie too, a hazy memory of the day he was born… the four of them around his crib, Andy holding a baby Reg carefully in her arms and handing him to over to Sirius… or maybe that was just something his mind had made up. He was so young when Reg was born… it wasn't possible he could remember something from that young an age… But still, these childhood memories were far better than the other memories Bellatrix evoked – of blood and Unforgivable curses, of angry altercations over widely differing ideologies, of fatal misses and a well-aimed Crutiatus, of magical blasts and the corpses of his friends and family and Bellatrix' triumphant cackling laughter during the years he'd spent in Azkaban at depriving him of the people he loved most.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, barely aware of where he was. He had to stop this. He had to stop letting Azkaban affect him so much. He had to get over it, get a grip on his mind.

"Sirius Black!" called someone from behind him, rousing him suddenly from his melancholy.

He turned around, putting on a calm façade; it was Amos Diggory.

"Ah, Amos," he greeted the man, smiling. "How are you? It's been quite a while."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed Amos Diggory, shaking Sirius' proffered hand cheerfully. "The last time we met was at Malfoy's trial, I think. But that matter is best forgotten now, eh?"

Sirius knew how worried the man had been that the Dark Mark had been cast with his son Cedric's wand. It wasn't surprising he wanted to put the whole issue behind him.

"Of course, Amos," he told the man. "But your son was brave that day, on the night of the World Cup final as well as at the trial. I've seen older people tremble when faced with the entire Wizengamot. But Cedric's clear testimony clinched the case against Malfoy."

"Indeed!" beamed Amos Diggory. "My son is a brave boy! I am so proud of him! I'm sure he'll do something great in life! We Diggorys aren't as high up the wizarding order like your House, but I'm certain Cedric will bring glory to my family name. And to yours too, eh, if things continue like they are?"

Sirius frowned. "What do you mean?"

Amos Diggory only laughed. "I'm talking about Cedric and Acquila of course! She's a nice girl, your daughter. Of course, they've been together barely a few weeks. But my Cedric seems enamoured with her, as I'm sure she is with him. We may not be as high and mighty as you Blacks, but my son is a wonderful boy! I'm sure even you'll see that soon, Sirius!"

"Of course, of course," said Sirius, a smile plastered to his face. But within, he was astonished, and then furious and hurt.

Acquila was _dating_ Cedric Diggory? Since a few _weeks?_ And she hadn't even told him! If Cedric had told his parents, there was certainly something serious brewing between the two.

 _Why didn't she tell me?_ he wondered, as he bid Amos Diggory a rather hurried goodbye and made his way home instead of going in to the Auror office, hoping Kingsley, who'd already gone ahead, would make up some excuse for his lateness.

And what about Harry? Merlin!

 _Harry must feel so hurt with all this,_ he mused, annoyed with the whole thing for more than just Acquila not telling him. _And why didn't Harry tell me what's been going on? Poor boy._

"Damn it," he muttered. He would always find himself torn between his two kids. While he was sort of glad Acquila had moved on (of course, he'd need to have a little chat with this Diggory boy first), but he knew Harry would be mighty affected by this. He didn't like it – seeing the boy all hurt and solemn. He knew Acquila had made quite some mistakes with Harry… and the boy had been more than kind and understanding with her… To see her with Diggory mere weeks after she'd said she didn't want to be with Harry… _damn!_

"Acquila! Acquila!" he called on the Two Way Mirror.

 _Be calm,_ he told himself. But that was easier said than done.

"Acquila!" He called louder, glaring at his own reflection that stared back at him in the mirror, when suddenly, two green eyes appeared beneath a mop of untidy black hair.

"Sirius! Hi!" said Harry.

"How are you, kiddo?"

"I'm alright. How are you? I called you on the Mirror last night. You weren't there."

"Sorry about that," said Sirius. He'd been at Irene's last night. But that wasn't important now. "Is Acquila around?"

"No," said Harry.

"Where is she?"

"She's out by the lake. We've got a free lecture… so…"

"Out by the lake? Alone?"

"Uh—no—not alone," Harry seemed a little hesitant.

"So she's with someone, then?"

"Yeah, I guess." Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable now, like on the rare occasions he did when he lied or tried to hide something from Sirius.

Sirius sighed. "Is she with Cedric Diggory?"

Harry only shrugged uneasily.

"I know about it, alright?" Sirius decided to put the boy out of his dilemma. "I just met Amos Diggory—"

"Cedric told his parents about them?" exclaimed Harry, looking surprised and then hurt. He said nothing, fidgeting with a stray thread on his cuff, suddenly downcast.

"Oh, Prongslet," sighed Sirius softly. "You know you can always talk to me, right? You should've told me, kiddo."

"I didn't know if she wanted me to," said Harry quietly. "And I don't know—I mean, she didn't say they were going out… _officially_ as such… I mean, they have meals together sometimes and long walks by the lake. But I didn't know—she didn't say—she didn't even tell _you_ , and she usually tells you stuff—but if Cedric's told his parents…" Harry trailed off, looking heartbreakingly sad, making Sirius wish he could jump out of the Mirror and give the boy a hug.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked him gently.

"I don't know. I'm not jealous or anything, I thought I was, but I don't think I am. I'm just… _hurt._ I didn't think she'd go on like this… move on so soon…" said Harry, looking thoroughly downcast, making Sirius wonder whether he hadn't even told his friends about how he felt. Perhaps, he hadn't. With the whole Soul Bond angle, both the kids only had Sirius, Remus and Dora to confide in about their relationship of sorts.

"I try not to think of it—and I know she tries not to make me sense it whenever she's with him… but sometimes I can… faintly… the Bond isn't as strong as before… but I still know what she's feeling if I try hard enough… I just feel hurt a little… I can't explain it," mumbled Harry. "She's free to do what she wants, of course. She owes nothing to me or to the Soul Bond. She told me straight out that night we argued that she wishes she could get rid of the Bond… and me…"

For the first time since he'd gotten to know Harry, Sirius heard something he'd never heard before – bitterness for Acquila. He'd never thought Harry would ever feel something like that. After all, he loved Acquila, he _truly_ did, long before he even knew of the Bond. Sirius knew that. He'd always had a soft spot for her, no matter how much she'd kept him waiting and inadvertently, or even deliberately at times, hurt him. Harry had always loved her, despite everything.

It pained Sirius to see Harry so hurt. But he knew that this was good for Harry – taking the blinkers off, seeing Acquila for what she was… the Bond _had_ affected Harry. Sirius had seen how a mere smile from the girl could lift up Harry's spirits, how much joy he took from the little thoughts of him that he sensed in her mind, how a single touch of her hand could ignite a sudden jump in his mood from one deep emotion to another. _It isn't healthy,_ Ted had told him once, with all the experience of a Mind Healer. Perhaps, this was good for Harry in the long run, disentangling himself from Acquila… reducing the effects of the Bond.

 _But they are soul mates,_ said a worried part of him, _the first soul mates in six centuries, after the Flamels. The Soul Bond exists for a reason, like Dumbledore had told me long ago… two parts of the whole, two halves of the same soul… what if this hurts them? This distance between them?_

Sirius suppressed his panic, unwilling to drag Harry into it, not when the boy looked so glum.

 _They are just children,_ he told himself, _they don't have to bend themselves to the stuff the Bond thrusts on them. It's their life to live… I promised Acquila that right when I told her about the Soul Bond… and I promised Harry the same – the freedom to live their lives the way they want, without letting the existence of the Soul Bond dictate their paths and their decisions…_

"Maybe it's time for you to put it all behind you," he suggested to Harry softly, "All this business with Acquila over the past few months. It was good while it lasted. But it's over now. She's moved on from it, and you should too, kiddo. I'm not telling you to go out and date someone for the sake of it or something… but just, don't upset yourself thinking about Acquila."

Harry looked a little uncomfortable again.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Sirius told Harry quietly. "I know Acquila's my daughter. But you're my child too. I'm not going to be mad at you if you bitch about her or something. You should just get it all out… that's what Lily used to tell some of the girls I broke off with… get everything off your mind, and then try to move on from it—it's not easy, of course. It's never easy to get over someone you love. But you deserve to be happy too, kiddo. And if Acquila can't or won't make you happy, then maybe you don't need to dwell on her and be sad about it..."

"I can't help it," said Harry, in a sudden rush of emotion. "I—I don't know!"

Sirius watched the boy, green eyes meeting grey. It was strange how Harry's eyes were like Lily's but how Sirius could read them like he'd once been able to read James'. He didn't need for Harry to speak, he didn't need to hear what he thought. He could read it all – Harry's hurt, his loneliness, how he had kept everything suppressed over the past few days, how he still liked Acquila, how hard he found it to watch Diggory with Acquila, how he wished none of it had ever happened – getting together with Acquila and then breaking up, but how he was glad it had happened too… how he wished Acquila would leave Diggory and get back together with Harry, but how he wished he'd just put it all behind him, be indifferent to her, be able to meet her eyes and talk to her without letting on how affected he was by it all, without _being_ as hurt and frustrated as he was…

"I know," he told Harry softly – two simple words, but they made Harry smile… a sad, but relieved and comforted sort of smile. The sort James used to give him when Lily turned him down the umpteenth time and went to Hogsmeade with some nerdy Ravenclaw whose name Sirius had long forgotten.

Damn, _I shouldn't be doing this,_ he told himself, _seeing James in Harry._

Prongs was long dead… and Harry was _Harry_ , not James, no matter how much he looked and _was_ like James.

"It'll all turn out right in the end, I promise you that," he told Harry gently. "But just—just—" he trailed off, at a sudden loss of words.

But Harry, like always, seemed to understand his wordless thoughts. He held Sirius' gaze for a long, long moment. "I will," he said finally, smiling a little. "I'll get over it… over _her._ I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes. You're right… it's no use brooding over it when she's—well, when she's out there all happy with Cedric. You're right," said Harry with a lot more conviction now.

Sirius smiled at him, and Harry grinned back – a genuine smile now.

"Now, tell me how's your Quidditch practice going, and Mad Eye's classes?"

That cheered the boy up. "I beat Hermione in a duel, Sirius! It was brilliant! Even Moody said I was great—"

The talk with Acquila would have to wait. For now, Sirius was content watching Harry laugh as he told him all about Mad Eye's classes.

 **oOo**

Her heart raced a mile a minute, her breaths erratic as he pulled her closer, his tongue sweeping through her mouth, her tummy all aflutter as he nipped at her lip. His arms were around her waist, her feet tingling with how she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him. His hands slid lower down, almost as if he wanted to lift her up to kiss her even harder… but then he collected himself, gently letting go of her, his hand settling on her shoulder now, the other running through his own hair.

She watched him, her heart thudding, her nerves alight with eager want, wondering why he had stopped, wondering what was going on in his mind, wondering what to do with her own hands now – should she put her arms around him, or cup his face and kiss his lips like she wanted to, or just— _damn,_ why was it like this? The sudden awkwardness that came over her sometimes, not knowing how to proceed, not knowing what Cedric liked, whether he was enjoying what they were doing, what he thought about her, about _them…_

It had never been like this with Harry. She knew everything about him; she could _feel_ what he felt when they had kissed, she knew what he was thinking about her when she pushed closer to him and felt him stirring against her, _he_ knew what she liked, what she felt— _Merlin!_ She shouldn't be thinking about Harry now, not with Cedric smiling at her, blue grey eyes twinkling, and a flush in his cheeks.

She smiled at the Hufflepuff, half wanting to kiss him again, half wanting to ask him why he'd stopped. It was so tough to tell with Cedric. She didn't know him as well enough to go about understanding his thoughts from his little gestures like it had been with Harry—and _damn,_ there she went thinking about Harry again… comparing the two of them…

It wasn't fair, neither to Cedric, nor to Harry.

Cedric kissed her cheek, a sweet, chaste kiss that made her smile. "You don't know what you do to me, Acquila," he murmured in her ear.

"Why did you stop, then?" she asked him.

"Because I thought we're going a little too quickly with this, I guess." Cedric grinned easily. "You're—well, a lot younger than me. We'll take this slow, eh…"

She hesitated for a moment, thinking of her conversation with her Dad last night, then said it anyway. "I thought you liked quick." She added a teasing note to her voice, "I mean, you did tell your father about me…"

Cedric looked surprised for a moment, his cheeks a little adorably pink from not just the heated snogging they'd been doing moments earlier. "How do you—"

"Your father met my Dad in the Ministry the other day," said Acquila, "He said you're going to bring glory to the Black family in future, if things go as they're going on now."

"Holy Helga!" Cedric groaned, looking so mortified that Acquila couldn't help but laugh.

He rubbed a hand over his face, and then, watching her laughing, he laughed too. "My Dad said that to your father—to _Lord Black_? Tell me, do I have to practice my defensive spells now? Is your father going to corner me somewhere in the castle and give me a threatening talk or something?"

"He might," quipped Acquila, remembering her talk with Sirius. Her Dad had promised that he'd hex Cedric's balls off if he did anything he wasn't supposed to be doing with his little girl. But she also remembered how hurt her Dad had looked at having to hear about Cedric and her from Amos Diggory instead of having Acquila tell him about it first.

"What happened?" Cedric asked her quietly, seeming to have noted her sudden silence.

"It's nothing," she lied.

 _Why didn't you tell me?_ Her Dad's grey eyes had asked her wordlessly when they'd spoken on the Two Way Mirror last night. She remembered the promise they'd both made to each other, months ago, when Sirius still fancied Nigella Flint – that Sirius would tell her if he ever liked some woman enough to think of a future with her, and that Acquila would in turn tell him all about the boys she dated. _No secrets between us, love,_ her Dad had promised, and she'd promised him too…

 _Why didn't I tell Dad, then?_ she asked herself. _Why didn't I tell him about Cedric? Why did I keep it hidden for all these days?_

She knew the answer, of course, tough as it was to admit. She felt guilty… she knew she would disappoint her Dad – not because he disliked Cedric or something (though he probably did), but because, somewhere, deep within, she felt like what she'd done wasn't right…

"You sure?" Cedric asked her, rousing her from her thoughts. "Acquila, look, you know my Dad, right? He can go a little overboard at times, especially when it comes to—"

"I know," she told him, as he took her hand. It felt strange to her, Cedric's palm against hers… when she ran her thumb over his skin, she couldn't feel the familiar scar that she'd felt on Harry's hand, courtesy an incident with chopping onions for Aunt Petunia when Harry was barely a kid. Cedric's hand was larger than Harry's… he was a lot taller than Harry, he wasn't anything like Harry, yet she couldn't help but like him… she liked having lunch with him, she liked how he'd waited for her outside the Divination the other day, she liked walking with him by the Lake, she liked listening to his stories – about his childhood and his friends, about his cousins and Quidditch… Cedric in turn liked listening to her too – about Muggles and some of grandfather Phineas' old tales, of Black Manor and Calliope…

 _But it isn't the same,_ she thought. It was nothing like being with Harry… none of the knowing smiles and the way she'd meet Harry's gaze and know exactly what he was thinking, none of the walking together through secret passages to reach the Astronomy Tower quickly, none of the long talks at night in the Common Room long after everyone had dozed off, when they'd sit and talk about their days at school or about their parents and Remus and Dora, whisper about their failing quest for the Horcruxes, on the rare occasions, talk of Quirrel or Ginny-Voldemort and all that they'd been through together…

"You're quiet," said Cedric, putting an arm around her waist again. "Is this about what my dad said? You know you don't need to take him seriously, don't you?"

Acquila nodded silently. She couldn't tell him what she was thinking, of course, whether about Harry or about the talk with her Dad.

"I like you, Acquila," said Cedric softly. "I like you very, very much. And I don't want to rush into things if you don't want to… I told my dad about you because I just share everything with my parents… I didn't mean for him to make such a big deal out of it, especially in front of your father… you hadn't told your father about us, I take it?"

"I hadn't," she agreed. "I was going to. But I just…" She trailed off.

"I understand," said Cedric, smiling gently. "As I said, I don't want to rush you into anything. I like what's going on between us… and I don't want to—"

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, cutting his words off.

This was nice… just kissing him, not having to think about anything, pulling him closer to her, her fingers threading through his hair, only to realise that his hair wasn't as long as Harry had grown his in recent months, realising that she'd never had to stand on her tiptoes like this to kiss Harry, that Cedric's scent was nothing like Harry's warm, familiar one… that Cedric didn't know how she wanted him to snog her harder, not be all careful with her like he sometimes got…

She finally pulled back, Cedric taking a moment to collect himself.

"Merlin, it's eleven already," he said, checking his watch. "Come on, I'll take you back to your tower."

"You don't need to drop me," she chuckled. "And aren't you supposed to be patrolling the hallways?"

"I am, and I'm also supposed to dock points from you for being out after curfew," he laughed. "But because you're my girlfriend, I'm going to let you off easy … all I want," he pulled her closer to him, "is this." He cupped her face, kissing her deeply.

She was all flushed and breathless when he finally let her go.

"Get back to the tower now," he told her, grinning. "If I find you wandering the corridors after curfew again, I'll need more than just a kiss to let you go without docking points."

"Maybe I should roam around the castle tomorrow night just to see what you mean by more than just a kiss." She winked at him.

Cedric laughed. "Don't tempt me."

She could see his eyes darkening with desire again; and she knew that they'd probably spend the entire night making out if she didn't leave now.

"Good night, Cedric," she told him, kissing his cheek.

He grinned a brilliant smile at her, and then rushed down the stairs, while Acquila made her way up the staircase to the Gryffindor Tower.

It was a lonely way back; without the Invisibility Cloak, she felt almost naked. She wasn't used to roaming around the Castle like this without the Cloak, _nor without Harry._

Pushing that last thought away, she finally stepped onto the seventh floor, and muttered the password to the Fat Lady.

"Out late again, girl?" said the lady in the portrait on the wall. "You seem to have a rather nice taste in wizards, eh? Potter first, and now that Diggory."

"Just like her father she is," said the Fat Lady, "Remember Black with a different girl on his arm every other day? Acquila will be just the same."

"I won't!" cried Acquila, offended. Rolling her eyes, she stepped through the portrait hole, finding the Common Room empty, except for the two people sitting by the fireplace: Harry and Hermione.

They seemed to be doing some sort of homework; well, at least Hermione was. Harry was merely watching the bushy-haired girl, rubbing his forehead absently.

"Is your scar hurting again?" she asked him quietly, startling them both.

For a moment, she was almost hurt. _It was never like this before,_ she thought, _I could never startle Harry. He could sense me coming, he knew whenever I was near him._

She swallowed the sudden bitterness that arose within.

"No, it's nothing," said Harry. He wasn't quite meeting her eyes. It was how it had been since that picnic date with Cedric – Harry not meeting his eyes, her trying to avoid him whenever she could, especially when she was with Cedric. She didn't want to hurt Harry. She didn't want to give him any more pain, if he did feel any, that is…

 _Does he miss me?_ she wondered, _like I miss him. Does he feel what I feel sometimes? Like there's this hole inside of me where he lived for all these years?_

Weeks ago, she wouldn't even have had to ask these questions. She'd have known how he was feeling. Even if she did think them, Harry would've heard and answered them wordlessly. Now, he merely looked back at the parchment Hermione was writing on.

"Where are Ron and Neville?" she asked them.

"Neville went to bed early," said Hermione, "Ron said he didn't want to wait up for you."

Acquila sighed. Oh, Ron wasn't as rude to her as he'd been in the early days of her date with Cedric, but he still wasn't back to normal. He was cold and snarky with her, barely exchanging more than a few terse words.

"There, all done," said Hermione, gathering her books. "I think I'll turn in now. Good night, Harry, Acquila."

Hermione met her gaze, brown eyes conflicted. She knew her friend would stay awake, knowing why Acquila had returned to the tower so late, giggling as she told her about Cedric. But she also knew why Hermione had stayed up awake with Harry – to talk to him, to be the good friend that she'd always been to both of them.

"Good night, Hermione," said Harry, as Hermione walked off to their dormitory, leaving Acquila alone with Harry.

She stood stunned, not quite knowing what to say or what to do. She hadn't been alone with Harry for days now… avoiding each other, ensuring their friends were always around to act as a sort of buffer between them…

She finally looked up at him, wondering how long it had been since she had last _seen_ him, properly. His hair had grown even longer now, sticking up messily, there were pale shadows under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept properly for days, there was a little mark on his forearm, she saw, as her gaze slid lower, a patch of skin that had turned a bright red.

"What happened?" she asked him.

"One of Hagrid's Screwts blew up when I tried to feed it," he said quietly.

She stood quietly, half wanting to take his hand, to inspect the burn, childishly kiss the reddened skin and tell him it would get all better – like she used to do when they were younger and at Muggle school, and she would kiss the bruises Dudley gave him sometimes, and Harry would blush shyly and say the pain was gone and he was feeling all better.

 _How did I not feel it?_ she asked herself, asked him, if he could even hear her anymore. _How did I not feel when the Screwt burnt his hand, how did I not feel his pain?_

For a moment, she shut her eyes, willing herself to feel him, feeling a sudden dull burning sensation prick at her own forearm, and then feeling something seeping into her skin – a bit of hurt, a bit of bitterness, a bit of envy, a bit of her Dad's voice ringing in her ears – _It will all be fine, Prongslet, I promise you._

And then suddenly, it was all gone, Harry staring at her with his green eyes that contained something she couldn't decipher.

"Good night, Acquila," he told her.

She held his gaze. She always used to kiss his cheek whenever they bid each other good night, hug him lightly, feel his breath tickling her.

But she couldn't do that now, she _wouldn't,_ not with how she'd kissed Cedric mere moments ago, how she'd hugged Cedric oh so closely, not with how she had— _Merlin!_

"Good night, Harry," she told him quietly, feeling hollow and sickened.

Harry smiled feebly, nothing like those smiles he'd once reserved just for her. He walked away, not looking back once, leaving her standing there, pained and conflicted, knowing she was in for a long, sleepless night.

 **oOo**

It was an amazing night – the eager chattering all around the Great Hall – even in French and Bulgarian (of which Harry could sadly understand nothing), the ceiling reflecting the hundreds of stars that lit up the night sky outside, the air heavy with the delicious scent of the feast the elves whipped up especially in honour of the students of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, the tangible sense of excitement in the air…

Even the professors seemed excited, except Snape, of course, who was unaffected by it all.

It had been fascinating to watch the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arriving earlier that evening.

The French students had arrived in a huge carriage drawn by Winged Horses the size of elephants, a lot larger than even Calliope and Thunder and the Thestrals; the most massive horses Harry had seen yet. The shock on seeing the abnormally-sized horses, though, was nothing compared to when everyone saw the biggest woman they'd ever seen step out of the carriage. Never yet had Harry seen someone bigger than even Hagrid. Madame Maxime looked like she'd jumped straight out of the illustrated old books of wizarding tales Harry used to flip through in the library at Grimmauld Place.

A pleasanter surprise, however, was watching a familiar golden-haired girl step out of the carriage right behind Madame Maxime – Fleur Delacour, more beautiful than ever, looking like she was literally floating over the path leading to the castle, the mere sight of her making quite a few male mouths fall open in awe.

Before Harry could call out to Fleur, the Durmstrangs had arrived from a whirlpool in the lake. First, the long mast had risen, and then the entire ship popped out of the water, looking like a far larger version of one of the skeletal ships Harry had seen in the scary movie they'd watched at Hermione's place one summer evening.

It hadn't taken long for Ron to notice a certain Victor Krum among the Durmstrang students.

"IT'S KRUM!" Ron had shouted deafeningly. "That's Victor Krum!"

It _was_ Krum, much to Harry's surprise. When the Bulgarian entered the Great Hall later with two of his burly schoolmates, looking unsure of where to sit, Ron had tugged hard at Harry's sleeve. "You've met him, Harry! I'm sure he remembers you! Call him here to our table! Call him _now!"_

Ron said it was the happiest, most unforgettable moment of his life – Krum walking towards the Gryffindor table, recognising Harry and shaking his hand, Harry introducing Ron, Hermione, Acquila and Neville to the Bulgarian, and Krum finally sitting down at the table, Harry on one side and a starry-eyed, awed Ron on the other, and a horde of envious Hogwarts students watching them.

Fleur had entered the Great Hall soon after, followed by some of the prettiest girls Harry had ever seen. Fleur had scanned the hall – she was certainly looking for Harry and Acquila, given how they'd told her about studying at Hogwarts when they'd met her at her French mansion in summer. She had spotted them at the Gryffindor table, given them a delighted smile that had elicited an awed audible sigh from boys all over the hall. Almost all eyes in the hall had followed Fleur as she made her way to the Gryffindor table; Harry was used to the part-Veela having that effect on people by now, though.

Fleur had hugged Acquila, kissed both of Harry's cheeks, leaving his heart beating a little faster, and then let Fred and George kiss her hand in an exaggerated way, and even waved at Ginny and Ron (who looked almost as awestruck as he looked for Krum). Harry found it a little odd that Fleur was so warm towards the Weasleys, but he reckoned she remembered them from when Harry had introduced all seven of the siblings to her at the Quidditch World Cup.

It was a fascinating evening, Harry mused, as he watched Fleur chatter and Krum grunt as their fellow schoolmates spoke, in heavily accented English, about their chances in being chosen as champion. Beneath Krum's rather reticent manner, Harry thought the Bulgarian was inwardly confident about being chosen as the Durmstrang champion. Fleur did seem very eager about the tournament too, but Harry thought he could sense some nervousness beneath her carefree demeanour. He hoped she'd be the champion for Beauxbatons; he quite liked the French girl… from the little he'd got to know Fleur, she was smart and feisty.

Ron, literally drunk on admiration for Krum and his awe for Fleur, suddenly whipped out a piece of parchment and asked an embarrassed Krum to autograph it for him. The rest of the meal passed by with most of the Gryffindors pulling Ron's leg about his fan-boying for Krum.

Red-faced, Ron frowned, glaring at the twins who kept ribbing him, and trying to ignore Hermione, who was annoyed that the red-head had torn the piece of parchment from the History of Magic notes she'd taken earlier that day. Laughing at something George said, Harry looked around the table, only for his eyes to fall on Acquila.

She was laughing at something one of Fleur's friends said, and he wondered at how quick she could be at making new friends if she wished to. He wasn't like that, really. He wasn't one to go out and actively get talking to people… Acquila was different… she was the one who had first befriended Hermione, who had slowly helped bring Neville out of his shell, who had even made friends with Luna Lovegood whom most people found weird.

 _But she won't talk to me,_ he thought quietly. Not that he wanted her to talk to him, with how very awkward things were between them.

No, he wanted to talk to her, at least tonight, because of what tomorrow would be – the anniversary of the night that everything had changed for both of them all those years ago… not that either of them remembered anything about it, except those screams Harry had heard on his first encounter with the Dementors – _not Harry, please! Mercy, have mercy!_

There was a chill down his spine, a sudden lump in his throat that took him by surprise. His gaze flew to Acquila instinctively; after all, he had always looked to her for comfort. To his surprise, she was already looking at him, almost as if she knew his Mum's pleading words that were ringing in his ears.

Only Fleur's whisper made him look away from those dark grey eyes.

"You should ask her out, 'Arry!" said Fleur, winking at him.

"She's already dating someone," he replied, gesturing vaguely at the Hufflepuff table.

He didn't hate Cedric, really; the Hufflepuff had done nothing wrong to him. But he no longer liked the older boy, and he avoided looking and speaking to him as much as he could. Harry was nowhere as sad and aloof as he'd been earlier; that talk with Sirius had somehow helped him a great deal. But still, he didn't think he could ever be friends with Diggory.

Despite himself, his gaze flitted to the Hufflepuff table. Cedric was looking at Acquila, he noticed, but when he looked back at her, she was still watching Harry, her gaze conflicted, until she looked away when Hermione called her.

"The moment has come!" announced Dumbledore, getting to his feet, excited murmuring all around.

The headmaster introduced Helphius Urquhart, the man who had taken over Crouch's post, and Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. They were going to be on the panel of judges along with Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Madam Maxime.

Dumbledore went on with the details of the tournament, the instructions, the warning about how those below seventeen weren't allowed to compete, how the tasks would challenge the champions' magic prowess and talent and ability to cope with danger and everything… Harry was barely listening, though… he wondered what Sirius was doing tonight. It always made his godfather sad – the days leading to Halloween, everyone and everything he had lost that October night years ago.

"—the champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire!" Dumbledore's voice shook Harry from his thoughts.

Dumbledore tapped the casket before him thrice with his wand, reaching inside the now-open lid and pulling out a large, roughly hewn cup that was filled to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.

Then Dumbledore went on, announcing how aspiring champions would have twenty four hours to put their names into the Goblet.

"Finally I wish to impress upon you that ought to enter into this tournament lightly. Once champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart. Please, therefore, be sure you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it if time for bed. Good night to all of you." Dumbledore ended his speech with that one final warning, leaving excited chatter in his wake.

Fred and George were discussing ageing potions and whatnot, Krum was staring determinedly at the Goblet, while Fleur bid them all goodbye and watched the Goblet closely as she passed by it. Hermione was already telling Neville something about the magic she thought the Goblet used to decide on the most deserving champion. Ron was watching Krum's retreating figure as the Bulgarian shook Harry's hand and made his way to the Durmstrang ship.

Acquila, though, sat quietly in her place. She didn't go to the Hufflepuff table, Harry saw. She merely sat quietly, almost as if she was waiting for him.

"I'm glad we're out of the spotlight this year." She stood up when he did, walking to him. "Aren't you?"

He nodded.

"Let's go back to the Common Room?" she asked him quietly.

He only nodded, wondering what had brought this on.

"Have you spoken to Dad?" she asked him as they walked up the stairs together. He wondered when was the last time they'd done this, only the two of them walking somewhere together.

"I did," he told her. "Sirius seemed fine… at least, he tried to act like he's fine."

She only hummed in agreement.

"Are _you_ fine?" he asked her softly.

When she raised her gaze to meet his, she saw her eyes were glistening.

"I am," she lied, and he knew, without her telling him, that she was thinking about what had happened last Halloween night – Mrs Smith dying, Greyback ripping her throat out, Acquila watching those memories in her dream that night.

For a moment, he wished he could hug her tight, kiss her cheek, promise that he'd be with her always, that Mrs Smith wouldn't want to see her sad, that she would only want Acquila to be safe and happy, that he understood what Mrs Smith had meant to her and that he too was sorry that she'd died.

But it seemed like it was something forbidden now, reaching out to Acquila, touching her…

 _How long has it been since I've felt her hand in mine?_ He wondered.

 _Shouldn't she have spoken to Cedric about this?_ Asked another shrewd voice in her mind. _Shouldn't she have told tell him? Shouldn't she have looked to him for comfort?_

But he said nothing, until they reached the portrait hole. There was nobody in the Common Room; people have yet to come up.

"Good night," he said softly. It was more of a question, he half wanted to never see her again, and half didn't want her to ever go.

"Good night," she said, not meeting his eyes again.

"Harry," she called him when he was about to climb up the staircase.

"Yes?" He turned around, green eyes meeting grey.

 _I miss you,_ she said, unsaid, but words he could hear all the same. Or perhaps he was only imagining hearing them. He couldn't feel her thoughts any more like he could mere weeks ago. Perhaps he could if he tried hard enough, but he hadn't had reason to.

 _I miss you too,_ he wished he could say. But he only stood there as mutely as she did.

"Let's talk to Dad tomorrow night?" she asked him. "Both of us together?"

It had been days since they'd both used the Two Way Mirror together. Acquila didn't visit his dormitory anymore.

He nodded, recognising the emotion flickering in her eyes in the light from the glowing torches around them. It was their shared pain, their shared loss, the sense of comfort that only they could provide each other with because of all that fate Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew and Fenrir Greyback had snatched from them on Halloween.

No wonder she hadn't told any of this to Cedric, no wonder he himself could never share this with anyone else. It was theirs alone, just the both of them – his Mum's screams that he'd heard, the image of Greyback sinking his teeth into Mrs Smith's throat, seeing that bright green light blasting everything apart, the grief pricking at his heart when he first visited his parents' graves, Sirius breaking down before Athena's tomb the very first time he took Acquila there, the taste of Mrs Smith's blood that they'd felt on their tongues that terrible night…

He didn't know who moved first, but suddenly, his hands were in hers, her forehead leaning against his, their breaths mingling, neither of them moving, but their hearts beating in tandem, the same terrible images flickering behind both sets of closed eyelids, the welcome sense of calm and comfort and _home_ that he felt she whispered his name.

Suddenly, the portrait door swung open, a loud Fred and George sauntering in with the rest of the Gryffindors.

Quick as a Snitch, Harry pulled away, suddenly aware of where he was, of what he was and _who_ Acquila was with now… she wasn't his anymore… he wasn't hers… none of this felt right, despite _how_ right it was.

He turned away from her, walking up the staircase quickly, not once looking back at her.

 **oOo**

"I'm feeling as nervous as I did before my first Quidditch match," confessed Cedric, unlike his usual confident, cheerful self.

"I'm sure you'll be Hogwarts champion," Acquila told him as they both walked towards the Great Hall. She could see some students staring at them. But she was almost used to it now, to the curious stares and the jealous glares. She'd even caught Cho Chang watching her eerily the other day, almost as if she was wondering what Cedric was doing with Acquila when he could have been with Cho. Sometimes, it perplexed Acquila too – what Cedric really liked about her enough to date her. She was younger than the girls he had previously dated, she supposed. They didn't have too many things in common too.

"You're only saying I'll be chosen because you're my girlfriend," said Cedric, grinning slightly. "You're supposed to say encouraging things like that."

There was a flutter in her belly when she heard those words. She _was_ Cedric's girlfriend, but that still seemed very strange to her at times – exciting yet conflicting, new, yet leaving her longing for the old.

"You told me even Angelina Johnson's put her name in," Cedric went on, "I think she might be champion, or Terrence Roberts from Ravenclaw—"

"No, it'll be _you_. It's just a gut feeling I have." She entwined her fingers with his; his hand was far larger than hers, and a little colder too.

"I know you're saying that to make me feel better, but—"

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, nothing like the deep kisses they'd shared the other night, but just a long, sweet peck on his lips. "You _will_ be Hogwarts champion. I know it," she whispered in his ear. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, she squeezed his hand, and then walked to the Gryffindor table, grinning eagerly.

She hoped Cedric would be chosen. Of course, House loyalty should probably have made her root for Angelina like the others were. But she couldn't help but support Cedric; the Triwizard championship meant a lot to him, and not just because his father wanted him to win. Cedric himself wanted to win it too… not for the thousand galleons, but for something else – well-earned fame and victory, the sense of achievement…

When she sat at the Gryffindor table, she saw that Cedric was still watching her, smiling. It made her smile too, also because of how she could make him grin so often.

She took her place between the Weasley twins who had finally managed to rid themselves of the beards that their ill-fated attempt at crossing the age line had given them.

Harry was sitting in front of her, next to Viktor Krum, who was glaring at the Goblet as if threatening it to select him as champion.

She gave Harry a hesitant smile which he returned. She could still remember the feel of his hands in hers last night, the sense of homecoming a simple touch of his skin had given her, how merely feeling him close to her had made a sense of comfort diffuse into the sorrow and loss she'd been feeling for Mrs Smith. Oh, it wasn't that she couldn't have spoken about this to Cedric. Her boyfriend had even remembered Mrs Smith's death last year. But despite Cedric telling her that he was here for her, she didn't quite have words to explain what Mrs Smith had meant to her. But with Harry, she hadn't even needed words. He knew everything, he'd always done.

"She's looking so beautiful!" Ron's dreamy voice took her attention to Fleur entering the Great Hall, looking ravishing as always. Some boys at the Ravenclaw table invited her and her friends to sit with them, and the Beauxbatons graciously accepted. Fleur waved to Harry and her as she caught her eye and took a seat next to Roger Davis.

Acquila could feel the growing anticipation in the Great Hall now. The delicious-smelling dinner appeared on their tables, and everyone happily tucked into the feast.

Acquila didn't quite feel like eating, though. She wondered what Sirius was doing. Halloween wasn't a good day for her father. She was looking forward to talking to him tonight with Harry. She hadn't quite got the time to call her Dad since morning; she'd been busy all day in classes, and then with Cedric on the lawns, and then with her friends watching the students putting their names in the Goblet.

She only hoped Remus was with Sirius tonight, at least to accompany him to Godric's Hollow to visit Harry's parents in the cemetery there. She guessed her Dad would go to the McKinnon cemetery too; but that was one visit he'd probably make alone.

Acquila herself wished she could go to that little plot of land behind that quaint little Church near the Orphanage where Mrs Smith was laid to rest. Perhaps she could do that in the Christmas vacations, have her Dad take her there.

When she looked to the Hufflepuff table, she saw Cedric just toying with his food like she was, not really eating. He was nervous.

Her gaze flew to Harry next. He was laughing at something Victor Krum said, Ron watching them both almost jealously. She curbed a smile at that, when the buzz in the Great Hall to suddenly come to a stop – Dumbledore stood up.

"Here we are," said Dumbledore, blue eyes twinkling. "The moment you have all been waiting for. The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision. When the champions' names are called, I would ask for them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through to the next chamber, where they'll be receiving their first instructions."

Dumbledore took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it. All at once, all the candles except those inside the pumpkins were extinguished, plunging the Hall into semi-darkness, the Goblet of Fire shining brighter than everything else with its blue-white dancing flames.

Everyone watched the Goblet with bated breath, when suddenly, the flames in the goblet turned red. The very next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it. The whole room gasped as one.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion from Durmstrang is—" The Durmstrang students seemed to collectively hold their breaths "—Victor Krum!"

The entire Hall broke into cheers and applause, Ron getting to his feet as Harry and Neville made way for Krum.

"Congrats!" Harry told Krum happily.

The Bulgarian thanked him in his gruff voice, his face almost breaking into a smile as the cheering continued, and then walked to the aforementioned chamber. Igor Karkaroff, Acquila noticed, was still clapping even after the cheering had all died down.

"Now for the Beauxbatons champion," announced Dumbledore once Krum was out of the Hall.

Acquila glanced at Fleur; the girl was pale-faced, her knuckles bright pink with how tightly she was clutching at her glass.

The flames in the Goblet burnt red again, and a second piece of parchment flew out of it.

"Fleur Delacour!" announced Dumbledore, to a loud applause from many of the male Hogwarts students, including a brilliantly grinning Harry; they were all in awe of Fleur. The other Beauxbatons didn't seem too happy, though. Two of the girls had even started crying. Fleur got up gracefully and gave a stunning smile as she walked into the chamber.

"And now," said Dumbledore, "for the Hogwarts champion."

Acquila watched Cedric; he was looking at her too. She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile just as the third parchment flew into Dumbledore's hands. She hoped with all her heart that Cedric would be the champion; he deserved to, she knew.

"The Hogwarts champion," announced Dumbledore, "is Cedric Diggory!"

Acquila couldn't even hear the rest of Dumbledore's words, so deafening was the applause and cheers that rose from the Hufflepuff table. She heard a loud whoop, only to realise that she was the one who'd let that out; she was on her feet, clapping as loud as she could.

The Gryffindors weren't really happy, though. Nor were the Slytherins who looked visibly disappointed. The Ravenclaws were clapping politely. She beamed as Cedric walked towards the chamber behind the staff table. When he passed by her table, Cedric grinned widely at her. Acquila wished she go to him and hug him tightly, but she had to settle for blowing him a kiss, cheering for him until he was out of sight.

She couldn't wait to see him alone, to hear what they told him about the tasks. She'd support him all through it; maybe she could even help him, maybe with some research or something… she didn't even know what the tasks were supposed to be like. Well, she'd hear all about it from Cedric once he was done with the instructions and everything.

The Great Hall had finally settled down a little, though everyone was still discussing the champions. Dumbledore made his way to the chamber himself, only to suddenly stop in his tracks. Before Acquila could wonder why the headmaster had stopped, she saw the reason why – there were red flames glowing in the Goblet again. As gasps and shocked exclamations began broke the steady chatter, a parchment was already flying out of the Goblet.

"A fourth champion?" Acquila whispered. It didn't make sense at all.

The lines on Dumbledore's aged face seemed to deepen when he read the name on the parchment. His blue-eyed gaze flew to the Gryffindor table, and Acquila knew it would be nothing good.

"Harry Potter," said Dumbledore, almost hesitantly. "Harry Potter," he repeated aloud.

There was pandemonium now, not that Acquila heard it. She was looking at Harry, stricken and stunned.

Harry stood rooted to his seat, his face almost pale, green eyes wide and disbelieving. All of a sudden, he didn't look fourteen, but like that little boy she'd first met at Muggle school – nervous and scared and alone. She could feel it all – his confusion, his panic, his anxiety.

"Harry," she whispered, making to go to him, knowing he needed her.

Almost as if he'd heard her over the din, he looked at her, still stunned.

 _I didn't—_ He seemed to say.

 _I know,_ she thought. _I know you didn't._

"Harry, come up here please," said Dumbledore.

Harry didn't move. He seemed to be frozen, watching the headmaster now.

"Go, Harry!" Hermione tried to push him out of his seat.

He looked back at Acquila.

She nodded at him, and then he stood up, his legs all shaky as he made his way to the chamber meant for the champions. She saw some of the other professors standing up and following Harry into the chamber with Dumbledore.

"How did he get past the age line?" demanded George, "I'm sure you know—"

"I need your help," she told the Weasley twin. She couldn't stay here. She had to be with Harry. She _had_ to.

"I need a distraction," she told him and Fred. "Please."

"We're always ready to create some chaos!" Fred winked at her.

She didn't care about the loud uproar that had broken up. She barely looked at the twins rummaging in their pockets for something. She only wished she'd brought the Two Way Mirror along. Her Dad would need to be told about this. Someone had put Harry's name in the Goblet, someone wanted him to compete in this dangerous tournament meant for people far older! Someone who was probably in the Castle this very moment!

Something red and shining soared over her head in a graceful arc, and before she knew it, the centre of the Hall was suddenly alight with bright fireworks – pink and red and yellow and blue, the fireworks drew carved pumpkins against the night sky of the ceiling, cheers and whoops of surprise all around. The professors still seated at the table rushed out of their seats to inspect who'd set off the firecrackers.

In all the commotion, nobody noticed Acquila easily slip out of her place and behind a pillar. There wasn't time to even tell Hermione who had noticed her slipping away and was watching her, wide-eyed and curious.

Harry… all she needed now was Harry.

"C'est impossible... Ogwarts cannot 'ave two champions. It is most unjust." Madame Maxime's voice was loud enough for Acquila to hear as she neared the chamber.

"We were under the impression that your age line will keep all the younger contestants from entering, Dumbledore." Acquila could hear Karkaroff. "Or we would have brought along wider selection of candidates from our schools."

"It is no one's fault but Potter's," said Snape softly, "Don't blame Dumbledore for Potter's determination to break rules."

"Harry didn't do anything!" exclaimed Acquila as she entered the room.

"Miss Black," drawled Snape sternly, "You are not supposed to be here—"

"Harry didn't do anything!" she repeated, looking straight at Dumbledore now.

Though she disliked the headmaster, Acquila hoped that just this once, he'd be of use to her, to help get Harry out of this mess, to believe what she was saying because she _knew_ Harry hadn't done anything… she'd have known if he had, she'd have felt if he had, Soul Bond or not, Harry would _never_ circumvent the age line to get into a tournament that he was hoping would keep him out of the spotlight this year.

"He didn't cross the age line or put his name in the Goblet or something! He didn't—I'd have known if he did—"

"Calm down, Miss Black," said Dumbledore.

"But—"

"I believe you, Miss Black," said Dumbledore. "I do not think Harry has anything to do with his name coming out of the Goblet."

"But why should we believe the girl?" demanded Karkaroff. "Just because she's Sirius Black's daughter—"

"This has nothing to do with my Dad!" retorted Acquila, the same time as Harry exclaimed, "Leave Sirius out of this!"

"Oh shut up, Karkaroff!" growled Mad Eye Moody, glaring at the Durmstrang headmaster, and then at Snape.

"This eez not right, Dumblydore," said Madam Maxime. "I do not theenk I believe this girl—"

"I do," said Fleur. "If 'Arry says 'ee didn't do it, I don't think 'ee put his name in the Goblet."

Madame Maxime said something in rapid French, which Fleur replied to swiftly. Acquila hardly understood a word of their exchange, but by the end of it, Madame Maxime was nodding reluctantly.

"Madame Maxime might believe this nonsense," began Karkaroff heatedly, "But I will—"

"I trust Harry," grunted Victor Krum. "He's an 'honest boy."

Krum's words made Karkaroff rage in fury and disapproval, but he said nothing to his star student.

Harry, though, looked touched at Krum and Fleur's faith in him. They hadn't even known him that long, but they both trusted his word.

It was how Harry was, Acquila thought fondly. Whoever knew him would know he _was_ honest, there wasn't a scheming bone in him, especially for something like this.

"Now that Miss Delacour and Mister Krum have given their views on this, let us see what our third champion has to say," said Urquhart.

With a start, Acquila looked at Cedric. She had _forgotten_ he was even there. She was so worried for Harry, so intent on defending him, Cedric's presence, his selection as Hogwarts champion, her happiness for him, it was all forgotten when Harry's name flew out of the Goblet.

Cedric met her gaze, blue-grey eyes dark in the light from the torches. The expression on his face was unreadable, and it annoyed for a moment. With Harry, she could read even his blankest of looks wordlessly. It wasn't so with Cedric. Was he miffed with her? Didn't he trust Harry? Didn't he trust _her?_

Cedric nodded mutely, looking at Dumbledore now.

"Ah, brilliant!" said Ludo Bagman. "Since the other three champions are in agreement, we are going to have four champions battling for the Triwizard Cup now!"

"Not that we could have done anything about this even if the three of you disagreed," put in Urquhart, looking rather worried. "I'm afraid Mister Potter would have _had_ to compete anyway. Once your name comes out of the Goblet—"

"Black," whispered Snape. "You have caused enough trouble already. Go back to your Common Room. Now."

Not quite wanting to piss off Snape, Acquila slipped out of the room, after one last glance at Harry, and then at Cedric.

As passed the staff table, she noticed that the Great Hall had already emptied out. A grumbling Filch was cleaning ashy dust in the middle of the Hall, remnants of the twins; fireworks, no doubt.

Avoiding Filch's eyes, she snuck up the staircase and hid behind a suit of armour, thinking.

It didn't make sense. Was Voldemort behind this? But what would he want with a school tournament? And if it was Voldemort, _who_ was helping him from inside Hogwarts?

She _had_ to talk about this with her Dad. He would know what was going on. He would help them get Harry out of this mess. This was one year Harry had been looking forward to, a year of peace, away from the spotlight… he wouldn't compete in the bloody tournament. She wouldn't let him if he didn't want to. Her Dad would sort it all out. She _knew_ he would.

She should have gone to her dormitory and retrieved the Two Way Mirror. But something made her wait where she was.

As she stood there, deep in thought, she heard the sound of nearing footsteps.

"Acquila," Harry whispered.

He had known she was here, just like she knew he would know.

"Harry," she said, as he stood before her, the light making his green eyes look almost hazel.

"I—I don't know—I didn't—" He looked lost… still stunned and flabbergasted and nervous.

Before she knew it, she was hugging him, her arms around him, her face resting in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.

 _How long has it been?_ she wondered, _feeling Harry like this._

She felt his arms go around her, everything about his gestures so achingly familiar – his hand settling on her back, his cheek against hers, his fingers resting in her braid. It felt like— _no,_ she couldn't even begin to describe what it felt like… like being put whole again, like the brightest of summer days, like the world had been set right again, like she'd finally come home… not to Black Manor or Grimmauld Place, but to where she had always belonged.

Until she _remembered,_ and she pulled back from him, settling for holding his hand instead, the gesture suddenly feeling forced and awkward unlike how natural the hug they'd shared moments ago had felt.

"Dad will help us," she told Harry, wishing she could run circles on his palm until she felt the familiar scar, the calluses on his fingers, the nails he was still used to biting during boring History of Magic lessons…

"I thought—I never thought… I don't want this," he admitted. "I just wanted some peace and quiet for once… just this once…"

He sounded very unlike Harry – frustrated and almost bitter… which was something he didn't feel often, even in situations like this.

"Let's talk to Dad," she repeated. "He'll know what to do. I know he will."

Harry nodded, hope flickering in those green eyes. "You're right," he said. "Let's talk to Sirius."

She didn't let go of his hand all the way to Gryffindor Tower.

 **oOo**

The wind howled long and loud, making the leaves of the ancient trees rustle loudly, the dark branches swaying in a wild dance. The dried foliage on the unshorn grasses flew tall and high, and then showered over the tombs of long dead witches and wizards when the wind suddenly lost its pace, making the cemetery fall into an almost frightening silence… only for the light breeze to pick up pace again, the cold making Sirius pull his coat tighter around him, grimacing because the flowers he'd brought along wouldn't stay put on her grave.

He watched the long-stemmed white flowers being swept away, as did the dead leaves and twigs that couldn't hold their own against the might of the winds, a swirl of white and yellow and a lifeless brown.

Sighing, he stared at the tomb again. She'd never been a flower sort of girl anyway. She wouldn't really have minded whether he brought flowers for her or not. It was how she was… always content, always happy with whatever little he did for her… never demanding, rarely butting heads with him… until that night thirteen years ago, when she'd begged and begged him to take her along to Godric's Hollow.

He shut his eyes. For a moment, he could see her – those auburn locks tied in an untidy bun, a wailing Acquila in her arms, the way she was reluctant to let go of him when he kissed her goodbye… the feel of her lips against his, her fist clutching the lapel of his coat, a sobbing Acquila squished tightly between them, her cries for _Hawwy_ ringing in their cosy little flat.

"I should have taken you along," he whispered, opening his eyes and tracing his fingers over the _Athena McKinnon-Black_ engraved over the headstone. "I should have listened to you, my love. I should've taken you along—" His voice broke, a hitch in his throat.

Damn.

No matter how well he thought he'd moved on from his past, the anniversary of Athena's death always dragged him right back into the dark abyss, making him feel like he was still in Azkaban, Bellatrix gleefully informing him that Peter Pettigrew had killed Athena, that Acquila was dead too, that he had lost all who were dear to him.

"I'm sorry I don't come to visit you often," he whispered hoarsely. "But—well, you know…" He trailed off.

She knew, of course. Athena knew him better than he knew himself, almost as well as James had known him. She would know why he didn't come to her grave often, she would know how it would only have made it tougher for him to tide over her loss.

 _Thirteen long years since you've been gone, Athena_ , he thought.

But sometimes, it felt like it was just yesterday that he had asked her out to Hogsmeade, asked her to marry him, swung her around in his arms when she told him she was expecting a child, made love to her until dawn, sobbed in her arms when he learnt of Reggie's death— _damn_! It was strange how every Halloween seemed to make the dead more alive to him than those who were truly alive. Athena, James, Lily, Reggie… he could go on and on…

"She's doing well," he told the unmoving headstone. "She's grown taller than you, you know… and though she looks so much like a Black, I swear I can see you in her sometimes… especially when she laughs, and her eyes just… sparkle in the way yours used to… and she loves Florean's blueberry ice-cream, just like you did, remember?"

He trailed off again, remembering the days in the summer holidays when Athena and he would spend hours in Florean Fortesque's ice-cream parlour, before the War intensified and had most of Diagon Alley down their shutters.

"She's got a boyfriend now," he told her. "Cedric Diggory… I think you knew his father Amos. Works in the Ministry, remember? I can't say I'm too happy about it. I liked it much better when she was with Harry… you'd have loved seeing them together, my love. They're just…" He trailed off again. It was tough trying to put into words what he thought of Acquila and Harry.

"I just—I just think it would've been better if you'd been here, you know. For Acquila… for just… everything she's had to deal with. I think she needs a mother figure in her life. Even Mrs Smith is gone now… and, well, Andy's here… but it's not the same, is it? I wonder if Acquila would've done things differently if you were here… if you'd helped her deal with the Bond… just, you know, spoken to her about it…" He sighed. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm not up for it, my love. I wasn't there for most of their childhoods… and with the Soul Bond and none of you around… if—if you were here, or Jamie and Lily were…" He trailed off again, rubbing his hand over his face.

"Damn, I'm making you all sad with my whining, am I not?" He chuckled hoarsely. "I should be here telling you all the good stuff, not complaining about everything under the sun. Well, Acquila's doing quite well now… it was hard watching her after the whole… Greyback thing…" His hand curled into a fist. "But she's better now. She's put it behind her… and though she might not admit it, we do have Harry to thank for it. He's such a sweet boy, my love. If we'd ever had a son, I'd have wanted him to be like Prongslet. He's got the best of Jamie and Lily, you know. Oh, I do wish he'd have some of Prongs' wit and humour and how he was always laughing and smiling all the time. Harry's a lot more solemn… but he's a very good lad… you'd be proud of him too…"

"Moony's doing great," he went on. "Nymphie and he have moved in together, you know. Nice little flat in central London. Andy's given them her blessing—you should've been there when Remus proposed to her. You'd be so happy for him, sweetheart. Remember you always told him he deserved a nice girl who'd see him for the wonderful man he really is? Nymphie's all that and more for him. I've never seen him happier… they're so good together…"

"And… then there's me," he said, uncomfortable now. "I… well, I'm doing okay, I guess. There's still so much to do, and hardly any time… I won't deny it gets lonely at home alone. But I guess it's how it is…" He trailed off again, but more out of unease now, fiddling with his wand. "I—I'm—well, you know about it, don't you? About _her?_ " He squirmed a little. "It's just… it isn't anything serious… you know that, don't you? Irene and me—it's just—it's all just physical… nothing like what you and I had—"

There was a sudden flash of bright light, a big spurt of flames. Quick as ever, Sirius raised his wand, pointing it at the intrusion, a Shield Charm up in a trice.

But it was a very familiar Phoenix that trilled aloud, extending a talon that had a piece of parchment gripped in it.

"Fawkes," muttered Sirius, wondering why Dumbledore was contacting him at this late hour.

 _There has been a new development. I await your arrival at Hogwarts,_ said the parchment in Dumbledore's distinct hand.

Satisfied that he'd read it, the Phoenix trilled again, and then took off in another spurt of bright, warm flames.

"You could've taken me along," muttered Sirius to the now-gone Phoenix, wondering what had made Dumbledore call him now. Was it something about a Horcrux, perhaps?

"I guess I'll know when I get there," he muttered, staring at Athena's tomb. "Goodbye, my love," he said quietly, his palm brushing over her name again.

And then he was gone, the winds swallowing the soft crack as he Disapparated to Black Manor.

Minutes later, he stepped out of the flames in Mad Eye's soot-lined fireplace.

The room looked far different than it had when Remus had occupied it months ago. There was none of the warmth, the familiarity that the stone walls held when Sirius had visited Remus over the past year. Instead, the room now looked like a bigger version of Mad Eye's office when he'd headed the Auror Department years ago, the familiar foe-glass there, the large Sneakoscope in the corner, a pile of oft-fingered books lying in a heap on the messy table, and a large magical trunk under the table. That was a new addition that hadn't been there in Mad Eye's old Auror office, the trunk. But then he hadn't needed a trunk at work, of course.

"Black," growled Mad Eye on spotting him, gruff as ever, the big blue eye staring at him as intensely as his real one was, the thin lips pulled into a thinner line on his grisly face, unsurprised at seeing him.

"Hello, Mad Eye," greeted Sirius. "Dumbledore said he wants to meet me—"

"I know. I told him to send Fawkes to you," Mad Eye cut him off. "There's something you should know."

"What happened?" Sirius recognised the tense note in his mentor's gruff voice. "Is it the children? What happened?"

"The Goblet of Fire spit out Potter's name!" barked Moody, stomping his clawed foot on the ground. "That's what happened!"

"Harry—what—what did you say?" sputtered Sirius. "Harry's name! Out of the Goblet of Fire?"

"Yes!" snarled Mad Eye, looking furious at himself. "His name came out of the bloody Goblet! Someone put his name in, under a fourth school if I'm not wrong—Potter's claiming he didn't put his name in—"

"Of course he didn't! Harry wouldn't do that!" exclaimed Sirius, stunned. "But I don't— _damn_ it! You think Voldemort's behind this?"

"He might be," growled Mad Eye. "But I don't understand how—"

"Damn it! _Damn it_!" Sirius shouted, enraged.

Harry chosen for the Triwizard tournament—he would have to compete in the tasks! Tasks that were ridiculously tough—meant for seventeen year old adults, not a fourteen year old boy!

"He won't be bloody competing in the tournament," Sirius fumed. "I'll see to it that he won't have to—he isn't even seventeen—"

"It's a binding contract, Sirius," said Mad Eye tersely, "You know that as well as I do—"

"But Harry didn't fucking put his name in! He didn't ask for this! I don't care! I'm going to find a way out of this! If Voldemort did this, and I'm sure he did, then he has something planned for Harry! I'm not going to let him rush headlong into danger! I'll find a way to get out of the magical contract—there _has_ to be a way—"

"You _know_ there isn't, Sirius. Don't delude yourself. All we can do now is prepare the boy—"

" _Prepare_ him? Merlin knows what the tasks even involve! He didn't ask for this—someone did this purposely—Voldemort has something to do with this—"

"But it's done now," barked Mad Eye. "You have to stop panicking, and think of what we can do next—"

"How could _you_ let this happen?" Sirius burst out. "This has Voldemort written all over it! I _told_ you to keep a watch on Karkaroff!"

"It _wasn't_ Karkaroff! I've got my eye on that bastard, and it wasn't him! He didn't get anywhere close to that bloody Goblet," fumed Mad Eye.

"Damn it, Mad Eye," swore Sirius angrily. " _You_ are here to keep the children safe—I could bloody sleep peacefully at night because I knew you're here! How could you let this happen right under your nose! How could you—"

"Damn you, Black!" roared Moody, stomping his wooden foot on the ground.

Sirius bit back his words, breathing heavily now, feeling the anger ebb and surge within him. He watched his mentor take a swig from his hip flask, and then looked away, controlling his panic and fury, watching the faint shadows in Mad Eye's Foe-Glass.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said finally. "That was uncalled for."

"You are right, though," grumbled Mad Eye. "I should've been on my guard—kept a watch over that dratted Goblet day and night. Something like this shouldn't be happening on my watch."

"I need to talk to Harry," Sirius muttered, more to himself.

"Call the lad here… this room is secure. I'll go see what Karkaroff's up to while you talk to the boy. I'll have a look at Snape too," said Mad Eye brusquely.

 _It can't be Snape,_ thought Sirius, remembering the Unbreakable Vow he'd had his childhood nemesis swear. But he couldn't tell that to Mad Eye, of course.

"Go meet Dumbledore after you're done talking to Potter," said Mad Eye gruffly. With another swig from his hipflask, he walked out of the room, his wooden foot clacking on the stone floor.

Wearily taking the Two Way Mirror from his pocket, Sirius called Harry.

His godson arrived barely a few minutes later, Acquila by his side.

"Dad!"

"Sirius! I knew you'd come," exclaimed Harry.

There was something in the visible relief in Harry's green eyes, the trust the boy held in his godfather, which made Sirius feel like he'd taken a blow to his gut.

 _There's no way out of this,_ Mad Eye's words rang in his ears.

"Dad, Harry's name came out of the Goblet!" Acquila's panicked words only made him grit his teeth.

"They're saying I'm the fourth champion! I didn't put my name in, Sirius, I swear!" said Harry earnestly.

"I know, Prongslet, I know you wouldn't do something like that," Sirius told him, putting an arm around the boy. "I'll get you out of this, I'll do all that I can."

"Hermione's read about it, Dad," said Acquila, tensed. "She said it's a binding contract—if Harry doesn't go through the tasks, he'll break the contract and it will strip him of his magic!"

Sirius supressed an anguished sigh. He'd thought as much when Mad Eye mentioned a binding contract.

"Do you—do you think Voldemort's behind this?" asked Acquila. "Someone in the castle put Harry's name in the Goblet, Dad! Someone wants him in danger—"

"I'll find out who's behind this. I swear I will," said Sirius, noticing how worried Acquila looked, how she had clasped Harry's hand in hers, the both of them looking just like they'd been before the whole break up.

"Look, even if there is someone in the castle out to hurt you, Mad Eye's here… I trust him, alright? You feel the slightest sense of something fishy, go to Mad Eye. He'll keep you safe."

Something flashed in Acquila's eyes at the mention of Mad Eye. But it was gone before Sirius could remark on it, and he had more pressing matters at hand anyway.

He looked at Harry, wishing he could promise the boy that he wouldn't have to compete. But he wouldn't lie to the children; he wouldn't give Harry any false hopes.

"I'll do all that I can, kiddo. I promise you," he told the boy quietly.

Harry watched him, understanding dawning in those green eyes, a flash of frustration taking over the hope that had been there.

"There's no way out of this, is there?" Harry muttered, turning away from Sirius. "I don't get it—I'm tired of this! Why is it always me? I don't want to be Triwizard champion—I don't want all this. I just wanted to have a quiet year for once… away from all the attention… I just—" Harry stopped, the outburst over as suddenly as it had begun.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I know you'll do all you can, Sirius. It's just that…"

"I understand," Sirius told him, ruffling his hair quietly. "I know you're mad about this. Anyone in your place would've been. I'm sorry I can't—" He broke off, not willing to give up yet. "I'll do all that I can. I'll talk to Dumbledore. There has to be a way out. You can't be made to compete when you didn't even volunteer for it—when you don't have anything to do with this at all. I'll—I'll handle it, don't you worry. I will."

It was the anguished frustration in Harry's voice that he thought of when Sirius stood before Dumbledore a while later that night.

"You keep telling me Hogwarts is the safest place for the children. Yet something or the other keeps happening," he snarled at the headmaster. "How in Merlin's name is this happening? Who put Harry's name in the Goblet? Why do they want him to compete in the tasks? _Why_ is Voldemort after Harry again when we know he's made up his mind that I'm his arch nemesis?"

"I do not know, my boy," said Dumbledore, calm as ever, his blackened hand lying on the table, dead and unmoving. "I do not know."

"But what is Voldemort going to get with this? You think he's meaning to have Harry hurt or killed while doing the tasks? Make it look like an accident? But that's not Voldemort's style. You think he's using Harry as bait again, to trap me or something? Like he tried with Greyback? But that doesn't make sense," grumbled Sirius.

"I do not know," repeated Dumbledore.

"That's all you keep saying!" exclaimed Sirius. "That you do not know! I want Harry out of this! He's not going to participate in this, for Merlin's sake! We know someone means to hurt him. I'm not putting him in danger knowing what could be in store for him."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. The magic that's spun into the Goblet ensures that—"

"—that it's a binding contract," interrupted Phineas from his portrait on the wall. "I'm sure my great grandson already knows that. Do not be foolish, Sirius." His forefather looked at Sirius now. "You've learnt wizarding contracts at Arcturus' knee. You know there isn't any way we can circumvent the magic of the Goblet—though this is what happens when you squeamish people of today fool around with ancient tradition. Earlier, the participants needed to write their names on the parchment with their own blood, you know, until they did away with that. Cowards."

Sirius only looked quietly at Phineas. "But it isn't fair to Harry. It isn't. You know that, Grandfather."

"You are a _Black,_ " said Phineas imperiously. "Life is never fair. Stop whining and find a way to make sure the boy doesn't lose his limbs, or worse, his life, in those tasks. You know the bloody history of the tournament. Dumbledore here says nobody's going to die this time, but with Potter and his penchant for trouble… you need to prepare him, boy. He has to compete. There's no way out of this. So he'd better give it his very best instead of moaning and complaining like you. You are a Black. You've worked hard to rise up so high, to be the man in whom so much power resides. Use it."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear any of that, because I'm afraid I cannot mutely watch you plotting to interfere with the tournament, Sirius," said Dumbledore, a twinkle in his eyes, "Neither as a parent, nor as Lord Black. The champions are to compete against each other _fairly_."

"Life is never fair, as Grandfather Phineas just said," said Sirius quietly, getting to his feet.

"You're going already?" said Phineas. "No yelling at Dumbledore this time? That's the only entertainment I have here in this office, boy. You screaming and ranting at this old coot."

Sirius only smiled, winking at Phineas and reaching for the door.

There was a lot of work to do.

 **oOo**

It had been a strange few days since his name had flown out of the Goblet, mused Harry, as Snape drawled on about some Dissolving Potion. Beginning with when Acquila and he had returned to the Common Room after meeting Sirius, everything had been rather strange.

The Fat Lady and her friend Violet had fawned over Harry, elated that a Gryffindor was Hogwarts champion. They'd gone on and on asking him how he managed to get past the Age Line, before Acquila had finally got annoyed and told the Fat Lady to leave Harry alone. They'd barely opened the portrait hole when a deafening cheer had almost had Harry reached for his wand to defend Acquila and him. Next thing he knew, he'd been wrenched into the Common Room by half a dozen pair on hands, carried over the shoulders of his celebrating housemates, had Dean and the Creevey boys singing a very off-key Muggle song about being a champion, and had the Gryffindors shower him with a hundred questions.

Everyone was dying to know how he had managed to enter his name in the Goblet. No one was ready to believe that he hadn't had anything to do with being chosen champion. Hermione had believed him, though; and Neville, of course.

But Ron hadn't… in the dormitory that night, Ron had sat stiff and cold, asking Harry why he hadn't taken Ron along to put his name in the Goblet too. It hurt that Ron, of all people, wouldn't believe Harry. Even Fleur and Krum had believed him, and neither of them had known Harry as long and as well as Ron did.

He didn't want to dwell on that now… Ron's pigheadedness, his sheer lack of faith in Harry…

Instead, he thought of the upcoming first task of the Triwizard. He had no bloody clue what it was.

Nobody knew, not even Sirius, who had promised him he would find out what the task was so that Harry could be prepared. He had protested, of course. He wouldn't cheat; he wouldn't do that to Fleur, Victor and Cedric who deserved to win and have a fair battle for the Triwizard cup.

But Sirius wouldn't listen to him, and when Harry had brought up the topic again, his godfather had merely given him a stern glare that had ensured he didn't raise the matter again. Oh, he hadn't been offended at how Sirius refused to see how unfair and dishonourable it was to find out what the task would be. Harry knew why his godfather was doing what he was… because Sirius loved him, because he didn't want him in any danger… and because Sirius had _failed_ in protecting Harry.

Sirius had sat him down in Mad Eye Moody's quarters that night, Acquila watching dark-eyed and furious when Sirius told them about binding contracts and what not participating in the tasks could mean for Harry.

 _I am sorry, Prongslet,_ Sirius had said quietly, grey eyes not meeting his as his godfather ran a frustrated hand through his dark hair. _I am sorry. Dumbledore says there's no way out of this. Even Phineas says the bloody contract is binding. But we'll get through this, I promise you. I'll do all I can to keep you safe, kiddo. I won't let you down again._

It had moved Harry, Sirius' words, just how much he loved him. And he had found his own rage and frustration fleeing when Sirius had hugged him and ruffled his hair.

For all that he wished it, his godfather wasn't infallible; none of his fame and power and wealth could get Harry out of the tangled web he'd been dragged into. But he knew Sirius would be with him all along wherever path would lead him. And that in itself meant more to him than he could express.

Moreover, Harry didn't want to worry Sirius anymore. Though his godfather hadn't said it, Harry knew the burdens he carried, and he knew how worried he was with how any sort of danger Harry got into would affect Acquila too because of the Soul Bond.

And anyway, it was no use worrying and brooding now. Done was done. He had accepted his fate, he knew that he would _have_ to compete in the damn tasks… and that was what he would do. He would divert all his frustration into coming up with ways to stay unhurt… and alive. That was all he wanted. He didn't care about winning the championship at all. Fleur, Victor and Cedric – they were the people who wanted to and deserved to win.

Harry looked up at the front of the classroom absently. Snape was pointing at the blackboard, saying something about herbs and cauldrons that Harry didn't quite care about. Snape had been terrible since Harry had been chosen champion. He would glare daggers at Harry all through the class, pass snide remarks on how big-headed and hungry for fame he was, just like his _insufferable father._ He had even given Harry detention twice for no genuine reason, made him dust one of the old, high-ceilinged unused classrooms, without magic.

Glad that for once Snape wasn't watching him, Harry looked at the rest of the class.

Ron was frowning, clearly not listening to what Snape was saying. Oh, Ron wasn't as miffed with him as he'd been on Halloween. (Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Acquila had given the redhead a piece of her mind that had resulted in Ron suddenly being a little friendly with Harry). But he'd still pass the occasional snarky remark.

He knew Ron wished he were in Harry's shoes… he sort of understood that. After all, even Harry sometimes wished he was someone else. Too many things had happened in his life, and too many things were going on. He sometimes wondered how he managed to stay alive after each incident…

His glanced at Acquila, watching her scribbling something on her parchment. Tendrils of her dark hair fluttered, and Harry half wished it was his hand tucking them behind her ear.

He looked away, thinking back to the time she had hugged him tight that night. She hadn't done that again… but felt better even thinking of the memory of how quick she had been to come to his defence, how she had barely even noticed Cedric in her worry for Harry, how she'd waited for him behind that suit of armour, like he'd known she would… For all that things had changed between them, some things hadn't changed at all, and he felt good knowing that.

He caught Hermione's eye, and she smiled at him. Hermione had been very supportive of him these past few days, as had Neville. Neville had even stood up to a Slytherin who had deliberately roughly shouldered Harry in the hallway. The Slytherins seemed to have taken the Goblet fiasco very badly, even more so than the Hufflepuffs. Harry had expected some snide comments from the Hufflepuffs considering he had stolen their champion's glory. But they didn't bother him much except for some glares during Herbology. He knew their lack of anger was probably because of Cedric telling them he had no problem with Harry (and he knew Cedric sort of believed him only because Acquila did). The Ravenclaws were normal with him too.

Only the Slytherins used to call him names during their shared lessons. Surprisingly, Malfoy had not said anything to him, but Harry could see it in his eyes. He knew that the only reason he was holding back his comments was Acquila. He wouldn't do anything to upset Acquila.

Completely different from all her housemates was Daphne Greengrass. She believed that Harry had put his name in the Goblet despite him telling her otherwise, but she was _impressed_ with him, with his cunning and his wits, which he'd never used in the first place! She had spoken to Harry once Care of Magical Creatures lesson, told him she was supporting him… it had made him faintly happy.

Half of the Potions class, Harry just realised, had passed by with him just blankly staring at the blackboard and thinking about all that was going on in his life. Harry couldn't believe that Snape hadn't yet noticed him daydreaming and not paying any attention to his drawling.

Maybe his luck was improving.

"How would you define antidotes, Potter?" Snape's voice rang out loud in the quiet classroom.

Damn, just when he thought his luck was getting better. When had Snape moved to antidotes? Hadn't he been going on about Dissolving Potions?

"Err, well…" Harry mumbled as he rummaged his mind for an answer.

" _This_ ," said Snape, mocking, "is our champion!"

The Slytherins laughed.

Daphne didn't, Harry noticed.

"Just because you are exempted from the end of the year exams, Potter, it does not mean you are exempted from paying attention in my class," said Snape, eyes glinting, "Detention this weekend, Potter."

Harry didn't know how he managed to suppress the groan. _Yet_ another detention with Snape! He didn't think he could take it anymore.

Just then, Colin Creevey peeped through the dungeon door.

"Yes?" said Snape curtly.

"Please, sir, I'm supposed to take Harry upstairs."

Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face.

Harry hoped Snape would agree. He couldn't sit through another hour of this class.

"Potter has another hour of Potions," Snape said coldly. "He will come upstairs when the class is finished."

Colin went pink. "Sir—sir, Mister Bagman wants him," he said nervously. "All the champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs. . ."

Harry changed his mind quickly. He would suffer through Snape's taunts and the Slytherins' laughter than go through a photo session.

"Very well!" said Snape. "Potter, take your bag and get out of my sight!"

Harry glanced at Acquila. She smiled reassuringly at him; she knew of his aversion for things like photo shoots.

He glanced at Ron too. He was staring determinedly at the ceiling. He knew Ron was going to be mad with all the attention Harry was getting. He would surely be cold and snarky with him later.

Well, he couldn't do anything about it. Ron would just have to grow up.

 **oOo**

He slept, dreaming of shining goblets and golden cups and a familiar stag who stared at him sorrowfully, until he was shaken awake by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Andy," he greeted her, rubbing a hand over his tired face.

Andromeda watched him carefully. "I should've let you sleep," she began, "but—"

"No, it's alright," he told her, sitting up straighter in his chair. It was time he woke up anyway; he had a rather important business coming up in an hour's time.

Wondering when he had fallen asleep, he cast a glance at the table before him, full of sheaves of parchment covered in various handwritings, copies of old newspapers, his Penseive, and dusty old tomes that he'd had Kreacher bring him from the library.

"I asked around," said Andromeda. She looked troubled.

"You shouldn't have," he told her firmly. "I _told_ you, I cannot have you involved in this. You're on the Wizengamot, and I need you there. If anyone finds out you're trying to get information on a bloody interschool tournament to help your nephew—"

"I'm not a fool, Siri," she told him sternly. "I know we've made enemies, and I know they'll jump at the slightest hint of any wrongdoing on our part. I was discreet. And I care about Harry too, you know that."

He nodded grimly. "Did you find anything out?"

"Only that your sources were right. Everyone involved in the planning of the Triwizard tasks have inked a magical contract. Try as they might, they _cannot_ divulge details of the tasks," said Andromeda sadly.

"Damn it," Sirius swore under his breath. "I spoke to Helphius Urquhart… he's worried. He agrees with us that Voldy or his minions have got something to do with this, but he cannot divulge anything too. I even had Remus speak to Bertha Jonkins… she's this poor woman, a little bird-brained… you know how Remus is good with meek people like that. But she let nothing on, damn it. Ludo Bagman seemed very eager to help Harry, mind you. One of my informants says he's bet a lot of money on Harry winning the tournament. But he didn't tell me jack shit about the first task. Just went round and round in circles—I guess the contract ensures he can reveal nothing. I had to bloody Obliviate him, lest he go around telling people I was trying to get information out of him."

"You need to be careful," Andromeda told him.

"I know," he muttered. "But we _have_ to know what the bloody first task is, Andy. Harry's just fourteen! Having him compete in something that's meant for adults—"

"He's better at magic than any boy his age," Andy told him reassuringly. "You've ensured that over the past three years, Siri. Harry is well equipped to deal with anything thrown his way."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to let him get into danger like this!" he exclaimed, shutting one of the old books he'd been reading on the history of the Triwzard. "What are people saying? You went to the Greengrass's party the other night, didn't you? Do they think Harry put his name into the Goblet?"

"Well," said Andy. "Theodore Nott went about saying that Harry cheated… he's _inherited his big-headed godfather's hunger for fame._ Daniel Greengrass thinks Harry's a smart lad to have got past Dumbledore's age line. Lady Augusta Longbottom was brusque with Ivy Brown for suggesting that Harry and you had something to do with it. By the end of their talk, Ivy was rather convinced that Harry played no part in it… but that only had her wondering _who_ is behind this all. Nathan Rosier didn't speak to me… but he's a smart man. I'm sure he has his own suspicions."

Sirius nodded, saying nothing.

"What do you think?" Andromeda asked him quietly.

Sirius sighed deeply. "I don't think it's Voldemort."

"You don't?" Andromeda looked only a little surprised.

"I know I said it could be him – that was my first reaction when I heard of this. I was sure Voldemort had something to do with this. But it doesn't make sense, Andy. Operating like this—using an interschool tournament of all things isn't Voldemort's style. If he wants to get Harry, beat him or _kill_ him or whatever, he'll want to do it out in the open, to prove to everyone that he's vanquished the child who killed him all those years ago. He won't do something like this… it just isn't him…"

There was another argument that went against Voldemort's direct involvement – one he couldn't tell Andy. Months ago, Harry had those visions of Voldemort, been _in_ his mind when the Dark Lord decided that his arch nemesis wasn't a teenage half blood, but _Lord Sirius Black_ , with the purest blood in all of Britain, with all the power in the Ministry that Voldemort once held. It was why Greyback had attacked Harry and Acquila that night, to bait Sirius into going to their rescue and giving Voldemort a chance to finish him off once and for all. But things hadn't gone Voldemort's way that night. Voldy wouldn't try the same thing again – putting the kids into danger to incite Sirius to do something stupid. Moreover, Harry couldn't be the prime target now, because Voldy had already decided Sirius was his nemesis, not the Boy Who Lived.

"It has to be one of the Death Eaters," Sirius told Andromeda. "I don't know who, but one of them, out to prove their loyalty to Voldy or something. Lucius casting the Dark Mark, they must all be stunned by it…"

"If only we had someone in the Death Eater ranks to tell us what they are up to," said Andromeda meaningfully.

"I'm not going to ask Snape to spy for us, Andy," said Sirius. "He won't do it. He swore the Unbreakable Vow only to protect Harry. This playing informant for us… he won't do it. Moreover, I don't think he knows anything about this. If he did, he'd have tried to stop it, or told me about it. He's bound to protect Harry's life."

Andromeda sighed. But he could see she wasn't pleased with his reply.

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Sirius went on, "One of Voldy's lapdogs somehow engineered all this to trap Harry into going through the tasks. I don't know what they intend to do – maybe hope Harry loses his life in the process without having to do anything that'll land them in Azkaban like Malfoy? Gain points with Voldy for vanquishing the Boy Who Lived?"

"How did they put Harry's name into the Goblet, then? You say Moody swears Karkaroff has nothing to do with this."

"I wish I knew," muttered Sirius. "If it's one of Nott's pals, you think they had their kid put Harry's name into the Goblet? I mean, they do have children studying at Hogwarts—"

"Most of the Death Eater's children aren't of age, Sirius," Andromeda pointed out.

"Then I guess they had an older kid do it? Or an older cousin or something? Everyone's related to everyone, Andy, you know how it is. Anyway, none of that matters now. What matters is getting to know what the task is going to be to prepare Harry for it, make sure he won't get hurt."

"And will he agree? Harry? The boy has a lot of Lily's honour. He's a Gryffindor." Andromeda smiled fondly.

"I'm not giving him a choice. Honour and fair play don't matter when it's your life at stake. The sooner Harry understands that, the better. It may be a mere tournament for the other champions, but it could be a matter of life or death for Harry."

The clock struck suddenly, loud and clear.

"I have to go," Sirius said, getting to his feet.

"Go where? At this hour?"

"Cissa visited me the other day," said Sirius quietly, "About Lucius."

Understanding dawned in Andromeda's dark eyes. "You're taking her to Azkaban." It wasn't a question.

Sirius shrugged. "She said she wants to visit him. I couldn't deny her, could I? She knows I can pull some strings, take her there… going through the official channels would take her months… attract some attention she doesn't want… she's already been in the news too much after I became Lord Protector."

Andromeda hesitated. "I know you're—well, that you're all better now, but should you really go to that place again, Siri?"

"I'll be fine," he assured her. She didn't know he'd been to Azkaban a handful of times to interrogate Bellatrix. Andromeda couldn't know that. He hadn't told her about the Horcruxes. Knowledge of the Horcruxes could only put her in danger; and he'd burdened her with enough already.

"I worry about you," she said quietly.

"You shouldn't. I have a grown up daughter of my own, Andy. I'm not the little boy who used to come running to you frightened of Bella's rages." He chuckled.

Something flashed in Andromeda's eyes. "Bella," she said. "You said _Bella_."

At times like these, Andy's keen observation and shrewdness was a curse. He shouldn't have said _Bella._ He always called her Lestrange or Bellatrix, never _Bella_ … but the Azkaban visit was already affecting him, reminding of the times he had visited him cousin, heard her laugh wildly, sob pitifully, and had her try to strangle him that one time. So many memories, so many regrets – Bella and Reggie… James and Lily and Athena… _damn,_ the mere thought of Azkaban made a giant cloud of gloom and darkness shower over him.

He wondered what Andy would say if he told her he had visited her older sister more than once. That was something he hoped she'd never know… what her sister had turned into…

 _Blood ties,_ he thought, _family._

"I better leave now," he told Andromeda, putting on his Auror badge and taking his coat.

"Take care," she said, kissing him lightly on his cheek.

"I will." He grinned at her, knowing he'd set her a little at ease when she gave him a fond smile.

A quarter of an hour later, he was smiling a similar reassuring smile at his other cousin. But Narcissa looked nowhere as calm and collected as Andy was. She only nodded at him, mute, her face pale and drawn, her lips bloodless as she clutched her coat tighter around her.

They weren't even at the prison yet, but in the watchtower on the seashore yet – the one that he'd convinced Fudge into setting up the previous year, with a round the clock guard of Aurors keeping a watch on the Dementors in the fortress.

"Auror Adair," he greeted the Auror on duty.

"Auror Black. Mrs Malfoy. I wasn't told to expect you here." Auror Adair looked rather wary.

"We're here to visit Lucius Malfoy," said Sirius coolly, slipping a piece of parchment into the Auror's hand.

Adair's face cleared when he read Minister Fudge's words. "Ah, of course. Come on, Auror Black, Mrs Malfoy. I will take you to the prisoner."

The fortress towered above the dark, swirling waters of the North Sea, tall and imposing, casting a pall of terror and gloom all around it, invoking a sense of fearful foreboding in Sirius' very heart.

 _Azkaban,_ he thought, when they got into the magical boat, the waves loud and huge as the boat struggled over the dark waters. His palms were cold, his breath a white mist that mingled with the heavy fog and the salty spray of the sea as his boat bobbed over the fierce waters. He turned, facing away from Azkaban and towards the far-off seashore that seemed oh so warm and inviting.

The air turned colder and colder the closer they got to Azkaban, tendrils of white swirling before he face as the dense air make it a little tough to breathe.

There was a hand gripping his insides in its chilly grip, a dozen voices ringing in his ears – Reggie, Jamie, Mother, Lily, Bellatrix, Marlene, and Athena – loud and sorrowed and quiet and furious at the same time, nothing like she'd been in real life, but the nearing Dementors bringing to the fore the worst of his memories with her – the rare fights, the tears when he refused to give up a dangerous mission, her last words, the cruel barbs thrown at him when Athena's false apparition emerged from Voldemort's Locket.

For a moment, he felt like he would plunge into the oh-so-familiar darkness, his much-hated companion during his decade of incarceration, the ever-present sorrow and hopelessness that he was more acquainted with than with the joy he had felt over the past three years with his children… _his children… Harry – his shy smiles and his bright green eyes, taking him for Quidditch matches, teaching him magical spells, ruffling his messy hair, hearing Harry say that he loved him and he was glad Sirius was his godfather… Acquila – holding her in his arms the day she was born, watching the little pink fingers clutching curiously at his hand, hearing her hum softly as she braided her long hair, her warm hugs, her tinkling laughter…_

"Sirius." Narcissa sounded worried.

"I'm fine," he told her, memories of the children clearing the dark fog that had been threatening to swallow him whole.

Narcissa was shivering, he saw, looking unnaturally pale, staring unblinkingly at the looming prison. She had been to Azkaban before, he knew, in the early days of Bella's imprisonment. But now she had a whole lot of new depressing memories the Dementors' presence could torture her with – Draco being bitten by Greyback, Lucius' hand in it, his incarceration, losing – even if it was voluntarily – control over House Malfoy…

He muttered a spell under his breath, to warm her up. Silently, he slipped his hand in hers, almost wincing at how chilled her hand was.

"Are you sure you want to—"

"Yes," she cut him off. "He is still my husband. I need to see him… tell him about the protectorship… and tell him about Draco. Whatever he may have done, I know Lucius still cares for our son. He should know what's going on in Draco's life… read his letters and get news of his son. I will not deprive him of that."

Her voice was trembling as she spoke; but Sirius could see how the mention of Draco seemed to give Narcissa a little courage.

"Auror Black," called Adair. "Now."

"Of course," muttered Sirius, watching the half a dozen Dementors flying over the fortress. "Expecto Patronum!"

A shimmering Padfoot lunged gracefully out of the tip of his wand, warm and silver, huge and proud, sprinting over Narcissa's head and onto the stony ground ahead, sending the two Dementors at the gate of the fortress running. Adair's fox Patronus remained on the boat, jumping off it only when Sirius had helped Narcissa safely onto the ground, the boat magically anchoring itself in place.

"This way," said Auror Adair, leading them up a flight of stairs.

From farther away, they could hear the loud wail of a woman, cackling laughter, followed by a fit of coughing and sniffling.

"Is that—" asked Narcissa, her face whiter than ever.

"No, no!" he told her. "It isn't Bella. She's further that way."

It was better Narcissa never knew that Bellatrix was worse off than most prisoners here. Narcissa probably did have an idea of that, but Bella had only gotten worse since the time Voldemort had infiltrated Azkaban and Obliviated her of that one particular memory.

Sending the Dementors away with his Patronus, Adair stopped before a cell barred with a giant stone door – similar to the one Bellatrix was kept in.

"Step back," Sirius told Narcissa.

Adair bent down and muttered a series of spells, his wand simultaneously drawing golden runes on the stone floor. He could feel the hair stand on end now, a strange-feeling magic swirling in the very air they breathed – it was Auror Strongboar casting his own magic through the monitoring spells from the watchtower, an added security measure for the high-security prisoners.

Finally, Adair opened the door.

"Mrs Malfoy," he said quietly.

Narcissa met Sirius' eyes. He squeezed her hand that he held in his, and kissed her cheek softly. "Go on."

She nodded, clutching her coat closer. Taking a deep breath, she entered the cell.

"Cissy!" Sirius heard a hoarse voice – one that sounded nothing like the proud Lucius Malfoy.

"Let's wait outside," Sirius told Adair. He had no wish of standing there listening to the Malfoys talking. Oh, he'd have loved to watch Lucius reaction on hearing that Sirius Black was Lord Protector of House Malfoy. But his gloomy surroundings made him decide it wasn't worth it.

"She can't be there long. I know the Minister's agreed for this, but if the Head Auror comes to know Mrs Malfoy and you came here without permission—"

"Ten minutes. That's all she'll take," Sirius promised him.

They walked out, screams of a prisoner shattering the sickening silence of the stone walls.

"Things going fine here? Any more trouble with the Dementors?" Sirius asked Adair.

The Auror frowned warily, then sighed. "I guess Auror Shacklebolt already shares everything that goes on here with you, huh? No use hiding anything from you, I guess."

"No," Sirius agreed, smirking.

"Shacklebolt wants to have more Aurors here. We're already stretched thin, and the Head Auror thinks it's a waste of man-hours putting trained Aurors here to do the Dementors' job of guarding the prison."

"What do you think? You're here often, eh?"

"Far more often than I'd like," muttered Adair. "And Shacklebolt's right. We need more Aurors here—hell, we need a specially trained force to handle the Dementors. They aren't really as much under our control as they used to be… I don't know what's happening, really. Having new prisoners coming isn't helping things… Malfoy, that Gaunt man who killed a Muggle recently… the prison's already bursting to seams."

"But—"

"You've only been to high-security areas where people like Bellatrix and Malfoy are kept in solitary confinement… like _you_ were, I guess," said Adair uncomfortably. "There's hundreds more prisoners in the dungeons. We keep putting Silencing Charms down there because the wailing gets so loud and unbearable when we come for our daily visits here…"

"I'll look into this, I promise," said Sirius.

"That's what you'd said when you were here last year too, from what I heard," pointed out Adair, unafraid. "But you never did anything, did you?"

Sirius sighed, guilty. He hadn't got time for that last year. He'd been so busy with Greyback and Mrs Smith's murder, Draco getting bitten, and then with Crouch Junior and the Horcruxes, he hadn't got time for handling the Azkaban issue.

"I will now," he promised. It was one of the things on his immediate agenda anyway, getting Dementors gradually out of Azkaban.

Adair nodded, unconvinced. He extinguished his Patronus with a wave of his wand.

"The Dementors won't come here," he told Sirius. "You can take down your Patronus if you wish. It is a rather strength-sapping bit of magic."

Sirius nodded, uncomfortable at the thought of standing in Azkaban without his Patronus. But Adair was right; and he'd have to learn to be in the dratted prison without constantly needing a shimmering Padfoot's warm presence around him, for all he knew, Narcissa and the Horcrux-hunt would necessitate more Azkaban visits in future.

"Morfin Gaunt," said Sirius conversationally, "He giving you any trouble?"

"He's nuts already, that man. Just keeps muttering all day… hissing and spitting like a bloody snake. I heard you were the one who got him out of Azkaban earlier, didn't you?"

"I did," Sirius admitted. "He was imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit."

"But he went and did it, didn't he? Killed a poor man, and landed in here again. Not all prisoners are like you, Auror Black. Once you're in here, the darkness never leaves you."

Sirius nodded grimly, not wanting to dwell on Gaunt now. Getting him out of prison had cost a man his life – Sirius wouldn't be able to forgive himself for that any time soon.

"Ten minutes are up," said Adair suddenly.

"She'll come," Sirius assured him. He knew Narcissa wouldn't take more than the granted time. True to her word, she emerged out of Lucius' cell, the stone door slamming shut behind her.

She looked even paler now – if that was even possible, shaking and trembling.

"You alright, Cissa?" Sirius asked her; meeting her husband had obviously affected her a lot. Lucius had probably raged at her on hearing about the lord protectorship – if he still retained his wits to understand the gravity of that, that is.

"Siri—" Narcissa began, gasping, only for her knees to buckle, her tall figure falling to the ground.

"Cissa!" Before he could move towards her, he felt the air around them thickening, a chill seeping into his veins, into his bones, gripping his very heart. He could hear Athena pleading now, Walburga screaming, Reggie sobbing, Acquila lying motionless on the forest floor, her blouse torn, the werewolves lunging at him, Greyback killing Mrs Smith, the only mother Acquila had ever known, realising a part of Voldemort dwelled inside Harry, sobbing as he thought of his unborn child that had died along with Athena…

"NO!" he screamed, struggling against the hopelessness, the memories, the impotence that seemed to arrest his actions, his magic.

"NO!" He screamed louder when he opened his eyes, aghast, for he saw one of the frightening creatures, tall and dark and hooded, descending upon Narcissa's fallen form, dark fingers elegantly touching her pale jaw, waiting to kiss her cold lips and suck her soul out.

"Expecto Patronum!" But nothing happened; he could hear Auror Adair screaming, a wisp of silver emanating from the Auror's wand and then disappearing, as seven more Dementors glided in from nowhere, flying over their heads, one of them joining the one who had taken hold of Narcissa.

His own wand sent out a feeble stream of silvery wisps, making a Dementor who was gliding towards him turn track and go to Adair instead.

"Expecto Patronum!" he cried, a slightly stronger spell sending the Dementor that was about to attack Adair away.

"Malfoy!" Adair cried.

Sirius turned around, stunned to see five of the Dementors hovering around Narcissa now, one of the hooded faces getting closer and closer to Narcissa's pale one.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" He cried, hearing Adair's shout joining in with his. Padfoot sprung out of his wand again, racing towards the Dementors, sending them scattering away, while Adair's fox Patronus followed the fleeing creatures, ensuring they wouldn't come back.

"Cissa! Narcissa!" Sirius rushed to her on weak legs, breathing hard, feeling cold and hollow. "Cissa!" He shook her by the shoulders, patted her cheek gently, until she came around.

"We've to get out of here," said Adair urgently, his fox Patronus returning and standing next to Sirius' dog. "We've to leave. _Now!"_

"Siri—what happened? Did I—did it—" Narcissa stuttered, clinging to him, teary-eyed and dazed, weak and drained as she struggled to stand.

"Come on," Sirius told her, putting an arm around her shoulder and half-dragging, half-carrying her.

"Come on, quick! Before they come back!" exclaimed Adair, running ahead to get the boat ready.

And as he led Narcissa to the safety of the magical boat, the silver Padfoot protecting them all along, Sirius only regretted not having taken up the matter of the Dementors last year.

 **oOo**

She saw him sitting by the Lake, which was very unusual for him. He looked paler than usual, blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight, a forlorn figure in sharp contrast to the chattering group of Ravenclaw girls and the boisterous group of seventh year Gryffindors on either side of him.

"Hey," she greeted him softly, sitting next to him.

"Hey," Draco said quietly.

"Dad told me what happened… Aunt Narcissa—"

"I don't want to talk about it," he cut her off.

Acquila watched him, the scar pink against his skin, silver eyes staring into the far off mountains, his lips pursed as he refused to even look at her.

"Are you mad at me?" she asked him, though she couldn't think of a reason why he'd be miffed with her. Agreed she hadn't spoken much to him lately… since she'd started dating Cedric, to be precise. It was almost as if Draco was avoiding her. He would sit with Daphne during their shared classes, and he'd disappear after mealtimes before she could even reach the Slytherin table.

"No, I'm not," he muttered.

"So you won't even look at me now?" she asked him.

Draco sighed, finally meeting her eyes.

"It's nothing," he said.

"Is Aunt Narcissa fine now?" she asked him.

It had happened the day before yesterday – the Dementors turning on her Dad, Aunt Narcissa and another Auror in Azkaban. It had scared Acquila – the thought of her Dad in Azkaban, the target of Dementors. She still remembered the nightmares she had had, years ago when Sirius was an escaped prisoner from Azkaban, when she would wake up sweating and shaken at the images of a Dementor sucking out his soul, erasing his heart and mind before she could even meet him, extinguishing whatever good and human was left in him…

Her Dad had assured her he was fine, and that Aunt Narcissa was too. But she still couldn't help worrying what would have happened if Auror Adair and her Dad hadn't responded in time. She couldn't imagine a world without her Dad. She couldn't imagine what Draco would have gone through if he lost his mother along with everything else that he'd lost in the past few months.

"Mother is better," replied Draco.

Acquila smiled, squeezing his hand lightly. She half thought Draco would pull back from her. But he didn't.

"It's all over the newspapers," he said instead, staring at the mountains again. "Your father didn't need to leak the news like that. I've had enough of my family name being dragged through the mud in the past year."

"Aunt Narcissa's name wasn't given out," reasoned Acquila.

Her Dad had told Harry and her briefly about how he intended to handle the mess with the Dementors. To gather support, he would first need to tell the public of how the wretched creatures were getting out of hand. Minister Fudge wasn't so keen on changing things in Azkaban, knowing the public backlash at the prison's security with no Dementors around. But because the Minister knew of Voldemort's existence and the danger he posed to the world at large, he'd agreed on gradually releasing news of Dementors attacking a visitor to the prison, to shape public opinion on the danger of the Dementors getting out of control.

"I know Mother's name isn't mentioned, but it won't take long for people to piece two and two together. The Prophet mentioned that your father was probably on the site too. Won't take long for people to figure out that Mother had gone there to visit Father," said Draco. "She's already been through a lot… all the letters and the questions from Father's friends, this protectorship business. She's my _mother._ I have to keep her safe."

His voice trembled at the end.

Acquila couldn't help but put her arms around him, pull him into a hug. He remained still for a moment, then returned the hug, almost half-heartedly.

"What's wrong? Why won't you tell me?" she asked him when he pulled back.

"It's nothing," he said again, though she didn't look as aloof as he'd done before.

"Is it because… we haven't spoken properly since I started dating Cedric," she said. "But you're the one who's been avoiding me. _Why?_ "

"It's not been great, alright," he muttered.

"What hasn't?" she prodded him.

He only sighed, looking like he was struggling to contain what he really wanted to say. "I've got some homework to complete and Quidditch practice later. I'd better get back to the castle."

"Draco," she called to him when he stood up. "Are we—are we alright with each other?"

He sighed, then gave her a small smile. "We are. I can't ever be mad at you for long. You're my—well, you're my best friend."

She watched him walk away until he disappeared from view, wondering what had brought this on. She knew he had been through a hard time; the Dementor attack on Aunt Narcissa had obviously worsened matters. But his behaviour with her wasn't making any sense. It hurt her a bit. After all, Draco was like the brother she never had. Agreed they hadn't always been on the best of terms, but he was the first person from her family she had ever met. They had shared things and events and memories that would always ensure Draco had a special place in her life.

"You don't seem too happy." She heard a familiar voice.

She felt more than saw Cedric sit down next to her, kissing her cheek.

"It's just Draco being Draco, I guess," she said, returning Cedric's smile.

"Is it because the full moon's nearing?"

"Maybe," she lied. Draco had grown used to the transformation now. Having Remus with him each full moon night helped, as did the Wolfsbane.

She watched Cedric smile at her, bright-eyed. Something made her lean in and kiss his lips, after a quick glance to make sure Harry wasn't anywhere around.

"I've hardly seen you these past few days," she told Cedric.

"Well, it hasn't been all that great," he said, a little curtly.

Oh, things hadn't been as good as they'd been between them since Harry's name flew out of the Goblet. She could understand why Cedric was probably a little disgruntled. He should have been the toast of all of Hogwarts, the pride of House Hufflepuff. But Harry being the joint Hogwarts champion had sort of taken away much of the glory that should have been Cedric's. Her defence of Harry that night and the way she hadn't joined the celebrations that night, choosing instead to stay with Harry, meet her Dad and celebrate with the Gryffindors… it hadn't endeared her to him.

"Did your father say something?" she asked him quietly, unsure of how to carry this conversation. It was what made her mad sometimes – how she had to think twice and thrice before saying something to him, never able to pre-empt his thoughts and response like she did with Harry.

"Dad's still a little miffed… but you know how he is," Cedric let out a dry chuckle. "He thinks it should've been my name splashed all over the newspapers. He didn't appreciate how they pushed my photograph to the bottom corner of the Daily Prophet, while there was this big article on Harry. I told him to be glad I was at least mentioned… I mean, Delacour and Krum didn't even have their names on there…"

"Does it bother _you_?" she asked him, taking his hand, running her thumb over his palm.

"Not really." He shrugged, and she couldn't see any dishonesty in those clear eyes. "I just don't like seeing Dad disappointed. He was a little annoyed because I refused to let that Rita Skeeter interview me too…"

"Did you tell him _I_ told you to refuse her?" Acquila asked him.

"I did… he didn't say anything about it after that."

"She's not a good person, Rita Skeeter, or I wouldn't have told you to say no to her." Acquila told him. "She'd written things about Harry and Dad and me that—"

"You don't need to explain anything," said Cedric. He squeezed her hand lightly, looking at her now, brown hair almost golden in the sunlight. "I trust you, Acquila."

There was something so touching about those words that she couldn't help but kiss him again, blushing when a group of Hufflepuffs nearby whistled and hollered teasingly. She spotted two of Cedric's friends among them – Alec and John.

"Are you nervous?" she asked him, "about the first task?"

"I am, a little. I just wish they'd told us _something_ about it. We know absolutely nothing," he sighed.

Acquila looked away from him, suddenly guilty. She knew her Dad was trying to find out information about the task, to help Harry. It would be unfair to Cedric… oh, she knew Harry wouldn't keep whatever Sirius told him about the task from his rivals; his principles wouldn't let him. But still, Cedric _wanted_ to win, he deserved to win, and she hoped he would win.

"How are Harry's preparations going?" Cedric asked her.

"Alright, I guess. He's all at sea about the task too… just like Fleur and Krum and you. But well, he doesn't care about winning unlike the three of you. He never wanted this in the first place."

Cedric shot her a sceptical look.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"Do you still not believe me? Harry didn't put his name in the Goblet. He has nothing to do with this. He never wanted any of this – all the attention, the pressure…"

"It's the Triwizard tournament, Acquila," said Cedric. "I know you folks are wealthy, but a thousand galleons isn't a small amount, nor is the fame and glory that comes with winning."

"He doesn't want any of it, neither the fame nor the money. He'd be happier if he was just left on his own, away from all this."

Cedric smiled an indulgent smile. "I'll take your word for it," he told her, but she knew he wasn't convinced. "I just hope that on the day of the task my girlfriend will be cheering for me."

She couldn't but shoo her irritation with him away when he put an arm around her contentedly.

"Oh, I will," she promised, pulling him close for a kiss.

 **oOo**

It was warm and cosy in the rather comfortable armchair. The scent from the merrily burning candles wasn't the heavy, sickly sort of scent that usually lurked about the Divination classroom, but a nice lavender-y smell which, coupled with the dim light and Trelawney's droning voice, should have made Harry feel rather sleepy.

Instead, he found himself unable to sit still, fidgeting with the quill in his hand, feeling hot under his collar, wishing he could open the curtains that were shut.

He looked at Hermione, she was scribbling away, looking none too pleased with whatever Trelawney was saying. Harry dully wondered why she had even continued taking Divination when she clearly didn't believe in the subject at all. If he was right, Hermione was probably already poking large holes in the logic of whatever topic Trelawney was droning on about.

Ron was busy staring at the pack of tarot cards Trelawney had spread out on the table. Harry was sure his pensiveness had nothing to do with the subject. He was probably dreaming of talking to Victor or having Fleur notice him again or something.

Neville looked like he was half-asleep. His eye lids were partly shut, and his mouth was almost comically open.

Acquila, though, kept watching Harry every few minutes, almost as if she knew how anxious he was. She probably did.

The First Task of the Triwizard Tournament was the next day, and Harry had absolutely no idea what was going to happen. They had been told nothing and they had nothing to prepare for. The past few days, all Harry was doing was practising the spells that Sirius and Remus had taught Acquila and him. That was the best he could do to prepare. It was what Sirius had told him too – _keep practising all that you know until I find out what exactly the Task is going to be._ That was easier said than done, Harry thought. Despite his best efforts, his godfather had no inkling of what the first task was going to be, none at all.

All the students suddenly turning to face him and the gasps that rang throughout the classroom shook Harry out of his thoughts.

"What—what happened?" he muttered to Hermione, who was sitting next to him.

Had Trelawney asked him a question or something? Were they all waiting to for him to reply to her?

"She just predicted that there will be blood spilt in the arena tomorrow," replied Hermione under her breath. "Well, anybody could have predicted that given the history of the tournament."

Seeing the look on Harry's face, Hermione turned pink. "Harry, I didn't mean—"

"It's alright," he said dully, glad that the rest of the class had gone back to doing whatever they did to pass time in Trelawney's class. Lavender and Parvati, however, continued to glance at him, whispering to each other, until the glare Hermione shot them made them look away.

"Do you think—" Harry stopped midway through his question when he saw Daphne Greengrass standing at the door.

"Professor, Harry Potter's been called to the Great Hall. It's to do with the Triwizard tournament," said Daphne.

"Very well," said Trelawney, as Harry gratefully got to his feet. "But be careful, boy. Every step you take ahead, you will take two back."

Not knowing what to make of that, Harry merely shrugged and walked out of the door, feeling everyone's eyes on him. He felt a sliver of curiosity that didn't quite belong to him… maybe it was Acquila, he thought, brushing it away.

"I'm so glad you came," he told Daphne when they walked away from the classroom.

"Oh!" Daphne turned a bit pink.

"I mean, I'm glad that you rescued from that lecture," Harry clarified sheepishly. "I couldn't sit there any longer."

"Glad I could be of help." Daphne grinned her pretty smile. He had forgotten just how blue her eyes were.

"So, I'm to go to the Great Hall?" he asked her.

"To the same chamber you went to when your name was announced, actually."

"Thanks." Harry smiled.

"You know I'll be supporting you tomorrow, right?" said Daphne, smiling a little shyly.

"Thanks," said Harry, quite touched. She'd be the only Slytherin supporting him, he reckoned.

It made him feel a little queasy, the thought of the whole schooling watching him make a fool at himself at the task. He didn't even know what it would be. He didn't even know as much about magic as Fleur, Victor and Diggory did.

 _It wasn't fair,_ he thought petulantly.

"You look worried," said Daphne.

"No," he lied.

"Okay," she said.

"You don't really need to worry, you know," she went on when he said nothing. "I know you're not as old as the others. But I think you're just as capable as they are. I mean, you've been involved in _real_ things – like the retrieving the Philosopher's Stone, rescuing Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, the thing with Greyback. None of the others have had real life experience like you have. I'm sure you'll do well, whatever the task is."

"Thank you," said Harry, touched by her words again.

She was a nice girl, he thought, remembering the date he'd had with her in Hogsmeade. He remembered that he had enjoyed her company. It had been fun talking to her now that he thought of it.

"We haven't spoken in quite some time… like this, I mean," he mused aloud.

"We should do this more often then," she quipped, smiling almost coyly.

Before he could reply, Harry felt the Two Way Mirror vibrating in his pocket.

"I—I've got to go!" he told her.

"But—" She looked put out.

"I'll—we'll talk later, alright? And thanks again—" He fled down the stairs, touching a particular spot on the stony wall at the end of a corridor with his wand. He slipped into the secret passage that lay there, suddenly excited, couple with the apprehension for the task tomorrow.

"Sirius! Sirius!" He called on the Mirror.

"Hey, Prongslet." Sirius' face appeared in the Mirror. He looked triumphant.

"What happened?" Harry asked him, feeling suddenly relieved.

"It's a Kelpie! The first task!" exclaimed Sirius.

Harry stared at him, half-relieved he at least knew what was coming (whatever a Kelpie meant) and half-ashamed. He hadn't wanted to know beforehand, have an unfair advantage over the others. Remus and Sirius had him convinced that it wasn't wrong to take their help; survival was his only goal. _What's that Muggle saying? Everything's fair in love and war, isn't it? This isn't quite war yet, kiddo, but nothing's unfair or out of bounds for me when it's your safety in question,_ Sirius had said.

"I just found out—one of my informants—he said there are Kelpies being transported tonight—those huge creatures being transported in the dead of the night. It's certainly for the task… the bloke's almost sure. He's got his sources in the—anyway, that doesn't matter—"

"What's a Kelpie?" interrupted Harry.

Sirius stared at him, then let out a hollow chuckle. "Sometimes I forget how Muggles know nothing about magical creatures. People like James and I grew up listening to scary tales about Kelpies… anyway, a Kelpie is—well, how do I describe it? They're shape-shifters… water demons… they live mainly in Scotland, you see… that's why I got no wind of it. You don't need import licences and everything to transport them to Hogwarts. They look like horses, but they can also take a human form… well, they can take literally any form…"

"That sounds a little dangerous," said Harry.

"Oh, they are," sighed Sirius. "Grandmother Melanie would tell us never to go swimming in the lake near one of our manors because the Kelpies would eat us up—"

" _Eat you up_?" exclaimed Harry, horrified.

"Yes," muttered Sirius. "When I first heard the story as a kid, I couldn't sleep that night—"

"What story?" asked Harry curiously.

"Never mind that," said Sirius. "Look, Kelpies… they usually take the form of a horse, lure humans into a sort of trap and make them ride them… then they drag people to the bottom of the pool or the lake they're in… and then they… you know, eat them all up except the entrails… so the entrails are sort of the only remains that float up in the water when the Kelpie's done eating…"

"Hey, take a deep breath!" exclaimed Sirius suddenly. Harry wondered how pale and horrified he looked. His limbs did seem to have turned suddenly cold, his breakfast churning in his belly.

"Look, I don't want to scare you. Dumbledore says they've put all precautions in place. And I'm sure the Kelpies won't be the ones that are completely wild. Maybe they'll be semi-tamed ones or something. But you should know everything you need to know, that's why I told you. I don't want you to be unprepared. And look, kiddo, they sound frightening, but there's a way to handle them—"

"What?" asked Harry urgently.

"The only way to subdue a Kelpie is by placing a bridle on it," said Sirius.

"It's that simple?" exclaimed Harry.

"It sounds simple. But you've to place the bridle on it with a Placement Charm. You can't touch the bridle—"

"Where am I supposed to get a bridle from?"

"You can't take one along with you for the task. Or everyone will know you already knew about the Kelpie… which I don't really give a damn to—I mean, you didn't even ask to be in the bloody tournament. But then it won't go down with people, and I don't want anyone mocking you or picking on you or something. So you'll have to create a bridle with magic," said Sirius.

"I—I don't think I can conjure a bridle, Sirius. I can barely conjure a tea cup." Harry's mouth was a little dry, wondering how he could keep himself from being eaten by a Kelpie.

"But you're good at Transfiguration. You can transform yourself into a lion, you've achieved the toughest of transfiguration. I'm sure you can transfigure something into a bridle. You can do it, kiddo, I know you can."

Something in Sirius' voice made Harry calm down a bit. It couldn't be that hard, could it? Not when Sirius trusted he could do it.

"I can practice with Hermione and Acquila," said Harry, more to himself. "I have all of today to practice—"

"Another thing," said Sirius.

"What is it?"

"You'll need to breathe underwater, Harry. I'm sure they'll have the first task in the Great Lake… Kelpies are at their most dangerous in water bodies."

"Merlin," muttered Harry. He could barely swim. How would he breathe underwater for the duration of the task? "What do I do?"

"You need to—" Sirius stopped abruptly, looking at someone behind him. Harry could only see the ceiling of Sirius' office, but he could hear urgent voices, and Sirius swearing aloud.

"I've got to go, kiddo—"

"What happened? What is it?" Harry was worried.

"I'll call you back, alright? As soon as I can—"

"Sirius!"

But his godfather was gone, the Mirror only showing Harry's own pale face and messy hair.

How—why—how had Sirius just left like that! How would Harry breathe underwater now? He had no damn clue! Something had happened then… something very important, or Sirius wouldn't have just left without telling him what to do. But he'd call back… Sirius had promised he would…

 _I can practice transfiguring something into a bridle until then,_ thought Harry, shuddering at the thought of his bloody entrails floating on the waters of the Great Lake.

Harry looked around, suddenly realising he was in the secret passage. For a moment, he forgot what he was doing there, only thinking of monstrous horses with giant sharp teeth.

He was supposed to have gone to the chamber near the Great Hall. Damn!

He was extremely late. He rushed down the stairs as fast as his legs could take him.

He entered the chamber, panting for breath. "I'm—sorry—I'm late!"

Fleur, Krum and Diggory were already there. So was Ludo Bagman, who gave him a big smile and greeted him with a one-armed hug.

"So, my dear champions, tomorrow is the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. You will assemble near the Great Lake at 8:30 am sharp. The task will begin at nine."

 _The Great Lake,_ thought Harry. Sirius was right then. It had to be Kelpies.

He noticed that the other three champions were looking at Bagman expectantly.

"Well, that's it," said Bagman. "That's all I'm allowed to divulge at this point. So, all the best! See to it that you have a good night's sleep. You'll need all the energy you have tomorrow."

The others looked at each other, wondering what the task would be. Harry, though, merely stared at the floor, guilty. It wasn't fair. _It isn't fair how I knew and they don't!_

Ludo Bagman gave them a smile and made to leave. Reaching the door, he turned around almost dramatically. "Don't forget to wear your swimwear!" He winked at them as he left the chamber.

Fleur looked at Harry, smiling a little. Krum only grunted, making to leave. Cedric looked pensive.

No, he couldn't do this. He couldn't cheat them of a chance at winning. They'd entered their names themselves. They wanted to win, whereas Harry shouldn't even have been here. Moreover, the Kelpie sounded too dangerous a creature to keep any of them in the dark about it.

"I've something to share," said Harry before any of them could leave.

"What eez eet?" Fleur asked, while the boys stared at him curiously.

Harry suddenly realised what they must have made of his sentence. They were probably thinking that he was confessing about putting his name in the Goblet or something.

"I've found out... more like I heard that that first task involves a Kelpie," he admitted.

He watched them for their reactions. Krum looked as tense as ever, and grumbled something that didn't make sense. Fleur looked taken aback. Cedric looked really sceptical.

Krum walked towards Harry. He patted his shoulder and left without a word.

"I 'ave to go." Fleur departed quickly.

Only Cedric remained. He watched Harry thoughtfully. "Why did you tell us this? You could have kept it to yourself."

Harry only shrugged. "It wouldn't have been fair."

Cedric watched him, then nodded quickly. "Okay," was all the Hufflepuff said as he followed Fleur out of the room. Harry wondered what Diggory thought about all this; but he didn't quite have time to dwell on that now.

Hearing the bell ring when he reached the Great Hall, Harry made him way to the Common Room, hoping his friends would be there too. He hoped Hermione would help him practice the bridle part.

They were waiting for him – Ron, Hermione and Acquila.

"What did they say?"

"Did they tell you about tomorrow's task?"

"Is the task in the morning, because I really don't want to wake up early," remarked Ron.

"It's at nine in the morning tomorrow," said Harry.

Ron groaned.

"Near the Great Lake—"

"The Lake?"

Harry sighed, launching into what Sirius had told him.

At the end of it, Ron looked rather peaky. Hermione was watching him wide-eyed, her mind no doubt already busy thinking of Kelpies and ways to deal with them.

Acquila said nothing, holding his gaze for a long moment. "You told the others too," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Why would you do that?" exclaimed Ron.

"I did," said Harry. He didn't need to explain the why of it to Acquila. She knew already.

"Did you try calling Dad again?" asked Acquila, as Hermione was already grabbing a parchment and scribbling something on it furiously.

"I did. There's no answer."

"Do you think it's something related to—" Acquila stopped abruptly. He knew what she was thinking thought – whether Sirius had got a lead on the Horcruxes. What else would make his godfather rush off so urgently?

"Here's what we'll do," said Hermione, looking like she had devised a plan. "Harry, I think you should transfigure something into a bridle than conjuring it."

"That's what Sirius said," he told her.

Hermione smiled.

"Hey, where's Neville?" asked Harry suddenly.

"He's got detention with Snape, remember? He won't be back until dinner," said Ron.

"Acquila," went on Hermione, "I think Ron and you should go to the library and look for books that will have something on breathing underwater. They might be in the Restricted Section, though—"

"I'll take the Cloak, and the Map," said Acquila.

Ron perked up at that.

"We'll be back. Soon," Acquila told him. He half wished she would stay with him too to practice transfiguration. After all, they'd practiced magic together for almost three years now. She knew him and his magic, sometimes better than he understood it too, like she'd done when she possessed him and transformed him into his Animagus form.

Acquila met his gaze, grey eyes bright.

He looked away as Hermione called to him. "Come on, Harry. We've got quite some work to do."

 **oOo**

"I can't believe these are the only books we found," grumbled Acquila, flipping through the pages of a giant tome that contained absolutely nothing on breathing underwater.

"There's nothing in this one too," complained Ron, keeping another book away. "I'm sure the _other_ champions took all the books away."

Ron gave Acquila a rather filthy look.

"What exactly are you implying?" she demanded.

Things between Ron and her hadn't been that great lately. He was still miffed about her breaking up with Harry and dating Cedric. She was still miffed with the way Ron had hurt Harry when his name had come out of the Goblet – disbelieving Harry, being all rude and snarky with him. Oh he'd stopped that once she'd had a _talk_ with him about how much of an arse he was being to Harry. Neville had spoken to him too. Ron had stopped blaming Harry for being selfish and _hungry for fame_ now. But that didn't mean he was cool with Acquila.

"Nothing," muttered Ron. "Did you look in the Restricted Section properly? Maybe we could ask Madam Pince—"

"And have her know we're helping Harry? He's supposed to do it alone… You saw the look she gave us when we walked in. It's good there are barely any people around. One look at you and it's obvious there's something fishy going on. You never come to the library, Ron… Anyway, I grabbed the books from the Restricted Section that looked like they'd be useful." She patted her bag where the books and the Cloak were kept securely. "Let's get back to the Common Room and look through them."

"I don't get it. How isn't there a single book about breathing underwater," wondered Ron.

"I don't get it either."

The books they'd perused only stated the properties of water when used in potions and alchemy. There was no mention of anything related to surviving underwater, even in the books on charms relating to water. It was almost as if someone had deliberately done away with all the books on the topic.

Gathering her bag, heavy with the books she'd sneaked out, Acquila got to her feet, Madam Pince glaring at Ron when he walked stomping his feet too hard on the stone floor.

She was barely out of the door when she almost collided into someone, her bag slipping off her shoulder.

"Cedric!" she exclaimed.

"Acquila," he said, holding her bag before it could fall off. "Holy Helga, what have you got stuffed in this? It's so heavy!"

"We just came out of the library. So it's books, _obviously_ ," said Ron rudely.

"Ron," muttered Acquila. "Could you give us a minute?"

Ron glared at her darkly, then went a little away, quite within listening range of them.

"Books, huh? I guess you know that the task is in the Great Lake, then?" said Cedric. He wasn't smiling like he usually did.

She nodded. But she knew that wasn't the question he really wanted to ask.

She was torn, between supporting Cedric and Harry. She hated that they were both pitted against each other. She hated that, in her heart, she already knew who she would root for.

"Cedric," she said quietly.

"You're helping him, huh?" he said, blue-grey gaze boring into her eyes now. "He told you about the Kelpie, did he?"

"Yes… he's so young—and he never asked for this—"

"It's fine," Cedric cut her off. "You don't need to explain yourself. All I wanted was to see my girlfriend rooting for me tomorrow—"

"I will!" she told him. "I'm helping Harry because I want him to survive the task unhurt. But I want you to win the tournament—"

" _Survive?_ " said Cedric. "Of course, he'll survive, Acquila. Didn't you hear Dumbledore say they've taken care of everything—wait! Is there more to this? Is there something you aren't telling me?"

She looked away from him. She couldn't tell him the truth, her Dad's suspicions, her own suspicions, about Voldemort's existence.

Nor could she lie to him. She _wouldn't_ lie to him. He didn't deserve to be lied to. If she couldn't give him the truth, she would tell him that she wasn't free to divulge what it was, but she wouldn't outright lie to him.

"We'll talk about this tomorrow. After we're done celebrating you winning the first task," she told him, taking his hand.

"Acquila," he sighed irritated. "You know I don't like to be kept in the dark like this."

"I want you to think only about the task now. This isn't important."

"Come on, Acquila. Don't give me this now—"

She did the only thing she knew would improve his mood. She stood on her toes and kissed him, kissed him until she felt his tongue making something delightful flare in the pit of stomach, kissed him until he put her bag down and tugged her closer, kissed him until they both finally let go, flushed and breathless.

"That was a rather splendid distraction, but I've not yet forgotten that you're hiding something from me," he told her. But he was grinning now.

"You go and prepare for the task now," she told him. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good luck, Cedric."

He flashed her a wide grin which she returned, then went off to the library, whistling a tune softly.

"I really didn't want to see that!" Ron complained.

"I told you to give us some space. You were the one who stood there and watched." She shrugged.

Ron grumbled all the way to the Common Room, where Acquila sat and went through all the books that she'd taken along, finding nothing suitable. Could it be that Krum and Fleur already took the books away or something?

She sat there all evening, watching Harry practicing with Hermione by the window. She went to her dormitory half a dozen times and called Sirius. But there was no response.

"Find anything?" Harry asked her.

"No. But I will," she assured him. "You go down for dinner with the others. I'll wait here and try calling Dad again."

"I'm not hungry," muttered Harry.

"Oh come one. We've been stuck here practicing all day. And you need some nourishment if you're to swim for an hour tomorrow." Hermione sounded almost motherly as she led Harry down to the Great Hall for dinner.

Acquila sighed at the dark waters of the Lake. It was worrying her now. What if they couldn't find a way for Harry to breathe underwater in time? Hermione had suggested the Bubblehead Charm, but there was no way for Harry to learn it. The one potion she'd come across would take a week to brew. She didn't know of any other charm that could help him.

 _What is that's why all the books are missing?_ She wondered, dread pooling in her tummy. _What if someone wants Harry to die in the Lake, unable to breathe? What if they want the Kelpie to—_ she couldn't even finish the thought. Perhaps she could go to Mad Eye Moody. He wasn't supposed to take sides, being a teacher. But her Dad had told them to approach him at the slightest hint of trouble.

"Acquila, you alright?"

"Yes," she lied, turning around to face Neville. "How come you took so long?"

"Snape wouldn't let me go," sighed Neville. "I must have cleaned around a fifty cauldrons. Slughorn had come to visit him for something. Even he told Snape he should ease up on putting me in detention every time… anyway, what about the first task? What was Harry called to the Great Hall for?"

Acquila sighed, telling him all they knew.

Neville smiled at her at the end of it.

"Why are you smiling?" Acquila asked him. "You should be worried."

"Looks like the detention wasn't a waste of time after all." Neville grinned widely.

"Huh?"

"Slughorn and Snape were discussing potions! One of them was a potion can make people breathe underwater—"

"I know about that," sighed Acquila, disappointed. "It takes a week to brew."

"But Slughorn has it! In his office! He was telling Snape he always keeps a vial of every type of potion he's ever brewed… for emergency purposes or something. He kept talking of how it was during the war—"

"You sure about this?" Acquila asked him breathlessly.

"Yes, I am!"

"Thank you so much, Neville!" She kissed his cheek, and then fled out of the portrait hole, suddenly hopeful.

 **oOo**

 _Harry jumped into the dark lake, shivering, a chill racking through his body when he plunged into the cold. He swam through the dark waters aimlessly, searching for something he didn't really know, struggling when something grabbed at his hand and pulled him down, something grappling at his throat as he struggled for breath, a pain shooting in his chest, struggling and struggling and struggling—until he heard her voice… Acquila._

 _"Harry! Harry!" She called out to him in panic._

 _Harry!_

"Harry!"

He awoke with a start, breathing in deeply, feeling sweat beading on his brow, his heart racing.

"Acquila," he breathed, seeing her sitting on his bed beside him, the light from her wand illuminating them both, grey eyes wide and shining.

"You were having a nightmare—what was it—is it Voldemort?" She took his hand.

"No, no it wasn't him," he assured her, sitting up. "Just a bad dream."

He didn't want to tell her about it, he found, which was strange in itself. He always shared everything with her.

"I found a way for you to breathe underwater!" She told him, the worry gone once he'd confirmed it wasn't Voldemort. She grinned at him happily.

"You did?" He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, before the panic took over again. "Is it a charm? I don't even have enough time to practice."

"No, you don't have to practice anything." Acquila smiled, taking something out of her pocket. It was a little vial, clear blue liquid in it. "This will help you breathe underwater. You just have to come up for breath every fifteen minutes. The effects will last for an hour. Enough time for you to complete the task!"

"How did you get this?" asked Harry, taking the vial from her, staring at the swirling blue liquid inside it.

"I didn't. Neville told me about it, and Fred and George filched it from Slughorn's office. That's a long story… all that matters is you don't have to worry about tomorrow, Harry! You can do it! I know you can!"

He watched her, sensing she was as relieved as he was, knowing how much it meant to her that he wouldn't be all at sea tomorrow, that he would be able to do the task, that even if there was danger, he'd at least be capable of dealing with it.

"Are you nervous?" she asked him, looking down at their clasped hands.

He realised suddenly that she was sitting on his bed, just the both of them, within the shut curtains around his four poster, under the Muffliato that she'd surely cast, late at night. How long had it been since they'd shared a moment like this? How long had it been since she'd come to his dormitory in the middle of the night, crept into his bed, their hands clasped, just the both of them…

"Harry," she said quietly, "I—"

"Harry! Acquila!" Sirius' voice ringing out of the Mirror in Acquila's pocket made them both start.

"Dad!" Acquila exclaimed, retrieving the Mirror and staring at Sirius' dark-eyed, tired face that appeared in it.

"Where's Harry? Did he practice the bridle? And the Bubblehead Charm?" Sirius looked worried, a little panicked.

"Where were _you?_ " demanded Acquila. "We needed you."

"Sorry—I'm so sorry. We got a tip off that Crouch was in one of the old Death Eater hideouts—bloody waste of time. I thought it was a reliable tip… but led us on a wild goose chase. I'm so sorry I couldn't call you. But I thought if we caught Crouch…" Sirius trailed off.

"It's alright," said Harry. "You don't need to worry about the bridle. Hermione helped me practice transfiguring. I think I can manage it tomorrow."

"And the Bubblehead Charm? That's the best way you can breathe underwater."

"We didn't have time for that, Dad. We've got a potion from Slughorn's office. It'll help Harry breathe underwater for an hour," said Acquila.

"Slughorn's office? Show me," said Sirius, frowning.

Harry showed him the vial.

"It looks alright. Slughorn had taught us to brew this in sixth year, I think. Lily topped, of course. Just come up for breath every once in a while, alright?" Sirius watched Harry intently. "You know you can do this, right, Prongslet? You'll get through the task. I'm sure you will. Just be aware of everything around you. The Kelpie could transform itself into any form. Keep the bridle ready."

"I will," said Harry, curious when Sirius seemed to struggle with something. "What is it?"

"You could just keep away from the Kelpie," said Sirius simply. "You're not in the tournament to win it. You just need to stay alive. You don't need to go after the Kelpie like the others will. You could just while the hour away. Nobody's going to think less of you if you don't win the damn task… least of all me. You didn't ask for this, and you're not obliged to risk your life with a bloody Kelpie."

"Dad," sighed Acquila.

Harry shot her a look, then nodded at Sirius. He could quite understand why Sirius was saying that. "I won't go looking for trouble. I'll be fine."

Sirius smiled at him fondly. "You go to bed now, kiddo. You need to be well rested for tomorrow."

The look Sirius gave him told Harry his godfather knew he wouldn't quite be able to sleep tonight. He was nervous about the task.

"I just wish I could be there to watch you," said Sirius.

"Why can't you come?"

"None of the other champions' families have been invited to watch. It won't be fair if I'm the only one coming." But the twinkle in Sirius' eyes made Harry wonder if hid godfather would find a way to come and watch him after all.

"If you feel like Harry's in trouble, go straight to Dumbledore or Mad Eye, love," Sirius told Acquila. "Now good night, both of you. Good luck, Harry."

Flashing a smile at Sirius, they put the Mirror away.

"You should sleep now," said Acquila.

Quickly, before he could respond, she kissed his cheek and went off into the dark, leaving him staring into nothingness.

 **oOo**

Morning dawned in no time at all.

One moment Harry was tossing and turning in bed, the next moment, sunlight was filtering into the room and Nyx was pawing at him to wake up.

The other boys in the dormitory were still asleep.

His insides squirming, Harry got to his feet, the cold floor making him shiver a little. By the time he got out of the washroom, freshly showered, Ron and the others were already up. Dean and Seamus wished him luck, Ron looked half-scared, half-jealous. Neville only clapped his back, whispering _good luck_ in that calm, supportive way of his.

When he got down to the Common Room, a loud roar of cheers greeted him. It didn't do much to allay his nerves; instead, only doubling the queasiness. He somehow put on a smile and nodded at them all, glad when Acquila and Hermione followed him out of the portrait hole.

Despite Acquila's steady presence, Harry felt like he was in his own little bubble, separate from everyone else. He wondered if the other champions were feeling likewise too. He could hear Acquila, Hermione and Ron saying something. But he couldn't quite make sense of the words. After a while, Acquila fell silent, no doubt realising he wasn't listening.

Everyone cheered when he entered the Great Hall. Diggory was already there, surrounded by a crowd of admiring Hufflepuffs. From the corner of his eye, Harry caught Acquila blowing Diggory a kiss. But that didn't affect him in the slightest, his mind only fixed on the upcoming tryst with the Kelpie.

"I'll be back," said Acquila quietly, going off to the Hufflepuff table. Harry only stared at his plate, not quite feeling up to either drinking or eating.

Ginny came up to him and shyly wished him good luck, as did Daphne and her sister Astoria. Luna told him to catch some Plimpies for her from the Great Lake, claiming she could make some delectable Plimpy soup.

"Mister Potter." McGonagall suddenly stood beside his seat, tall and imposing. "The champions have to go down to the Great Lake now."

Harry barely registered himself nodding at all the words of encouragement, the pats on his back, the hug he got from Hermione.

"You'll be fine," Acquila told him, kissing his cheek again. He met her eyes, something flickering in those grey depths, something that gave him quiet courage.

He nodded, and within no time at all, he found himself walking alongside Cedric, leaving the castle behind as they made their way to the Lake in silence. Professors McGonagall and Sprout followed them, a sudden silence descending on the lawns the further they walked from the loud castle.

Diggory smiled at him… Harry managed to smile back. Though the Hufflepuff seemed confident, Harry thought he the older boy was as nervous as he felt. They walked together in a surprisingly comfortable silence, until they came to a stop outside a large tent near the stands that had been erected for the spectators.

"You are to go in here with the other champions," said McGonagall in an unusually quiet voice. "Mister Bagman will tell you about the task. Good luck, both of you."

"Thanks," Harry said in a flat, distant voice. Cedric echoed him. Leaving the two professors at the entrance of the tent, Harry followed Cedric insie.

Fleur was sitting in a corner on a how wooden stool. She didn't look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. She gave Harry a weak smile, nothing like the bright, vibrant grins she usually smiled at him. Viktor looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. The Bulgarian gave them both a short nod, and then went back to staring intently at the floor.

Only Ludo Bagman got to his feet and gave them a broad smile. "Ah, wonderful! You are finally here!"

Fleur stood up too, as did Krum. The four of them faced Bagman.

"So, it's time to fill you all in, eh?" Bagman rubbed his hands in glee. "I'm going to offer each of this bag." He shook a small sack of purple silk. "You will know which _Kelpie_ is the one you are supposed to tackle."

Bagman looked at them expectantly, a little surprised when none of them responded like they would've done if they didn't know of the Kelpies.

"Your task," went on Bagman, a little deflated, "Is to collect the oyster from your Kelpie."

"An oyster?" whispered Fleur, the four of them staring at each other.

This information was new. Harry thought they just had to subdue the Kelpie. But now they'd have to retrieve the oyster from it. Harry's hands felt suddenly clammy. He didn't quite think a flesh-eating water demon like the Kelpie would let a human steal an oyster from it without causing some serious injuries.

 _You don't have to go and look for the Kelpie,_ he remembered Sirius saying. _You could just while the time away. You don't have to put yourself into unnecessary danger. You have to play to survive, kiddo, not to win._

Sighing, Harry struggled with himself. He didn't think he could sit back and do nothing. It wasn't like him. But someone hadn't put his name into the Goblet for fun or something. They'd done it with the intention of causing him harm. _Maybe Voldemort did it,_ he thought. It would be stupid of him to rush headlong into danger just for winning some trophy that he hadn't even wanted in the first place.

There was a sudden loud noise that shattered the silence in the tent – the sound of hundreds and hundreds of pairs of feet passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking… _I should have been with them,_ thought Harry sadly, _not here, facing a task I didn't even ask to fight._

"Witches first," said Bagman, holding the purple sack before Fleur.

The part-Veela put a trembling hand into the bag, and came up with a tiny, perfect model of a bluish-green coloured Kelpie, complete with a pretty, flowing mane, two little hooves, and a long, long tail that almost shimmered blue and green.

"Ah," said Bagman. "You've drawn the most attractive of the four Kelpies, and also the most docile of the four if the handlers are right."

Fleur said nothing, staring at the miniature Kelpie.

Bagman held the bag before Victor next, and the Bulgarian pulled out a pale brown model of a Kelpie. The model was smaller than Fleur's, Harry noticed, wondering if the Kelpie that carried Victor's oyster would be proportionately smaller than Fleur's too.

"Ah, this is a cunning one you've drawn, Mister Krum. You'll need all your wits to retrieve the oyster from this one."

Victor only grunted.

Cedric went next, drawing a dazzling white equine water demon, its tail long and two-lobed, like a whale's. Its mane was a rich golden, as was its tail. It was even larger than Fleur's Kelpie.

"The largest of the four," said Bagman. "Good luck, Mister Diggory."

Bagman finally stood in front of Harry. His hand shaking slightly, Harry put his hand inside the bag and drew out the last remaining one – a black red model of a Kelpie, its flying mane resembling dancing flames of various hues of dark red. It was _beautiful_ , making Harry wonder how brilliant the real Kelpie would look when its miniature model was so awesome. It had a long tail that wasn't like nothing like a horse's tail or even Thunder's, but long and almost delicate, branching out into brilliant red ribbon-like tapering ends that swished together in an almost mesmerising motion. Its eyes were like two rubies – shining red, terrible and frightening, yet beautiful.

"Good luck, Harry. You'll need it. You just drew the fiercest Kelpie of the lot," remarked Bagman. He wasn't smiling much anymore.

Harry felt the battle that raged in his belly intensifying.

 _The fiercest Kelpie._

Perfect. That was just his luck, wasn't it?

"So," Bagman went on, looking at the others. "You have each pulled out a different Kelpie. You have to obtain the oyster only from _your_ Kelpie, remember that."

Harry nodded blankly. How would he even know which Kelpie was his when the water horses could take any form they wanted? It wasn't like they'd retain some of their colour when they transformed into another form, was it? He didn't remember Hermione or Sirius telling him anything like that. Then again, they hadn't really looked up Kelpies properly. They had relied on Sirius' description, spending a majority of his time practicing the bridle part and looking for ways to breathe underwater.

"Good luck, all of you," said Bagman brightly. "I have to go now. I'm commentating, you see. You will all begin the task together. Whoever completes it first will be the winner."

He returned as soon as he left. "I almost forgot. Better change into your swimwear. You'll be called out soon. It's almost time."

They changed, as instructed. There was a separate room within the tent for Fleur, Harry noticed.

He looked around at the others. Another time, he'd have marvelled at how stunning Fleur looked in the one piece swimsuit she'd worn. But he had worrying things to dwell on now, like a terrifying water demon that could eat him alive. Diggory and Victor looked like they'd stepped straight out of a Muggle movie poster… especially Cedric. Sitting beside them, Harry felt rather self-conscious in his swimming trunks, lanky compared to the other two boys.

They waited, nervous yet almost excited, waiting for their names to be called out. Harry, for one, couldn't wait to begin. He just wanted to get done with the task, once and for all.

None of the others seemed to want to talk. Fleur caught his eye. She gave him another weak smile which he returned, when suddenly Ludo Bagman's loud voice rang out all around. He was in the middle of a sentence, and Harry realised the magic of the tent had silenced his voice until now.

"—now, for our champions! Victor Krum from Durmstrang! Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons! Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter from Hogwarts!"

The cheers rose louder and louder as each name was announced, almost deafening when Cedric and his name was called out.

Harry followed the others out of the tent, his legs feeling like jelly, shivering in his swimming trunks.

It was a magnificent sight – the massive crowd on the stands that were set up by the shore of the Lake that faced the castle and the lawns. Row after row of red and yellow dotted the stands, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff and Hogwarts banners. The Durmstrangs and the Beauxbatons sat group together separately, holding up banners of their own school crests. Harry looked for his friends in vain. He couldn't spot them in the crowd. He would've known where Acquila was if he tried, he knew. But he only looked ahead at the lake waters now, stopping before the shimmering golden line that was drawn on the ground at a distance of a few hundred metres from the Lake.

Did they have to run into the Lake or something? Like the running races at Muggle school? There was even a little golden whistle in Bagman's hand, glinting in the sunlight.

"It's almost time!" Bagman announced. Silence fell around the stands, before the cheering started anew.

Harry held his wand tighter, and ran his palm over the pocket of his trunks that held the little vial Acquila had given him the previous night.

"As soon as I blow this whistle, you, my dear champions, will cross the golden line! You know what you have to do, of course. Obtain the oyster from your Kelpie, swim back to the shore with it, get to the golden line. Whoever completes the task first will be the winner!"

Harry wondered if even Diggory, who stood next to him, could hear the loud thumping of his heart.

"Good luck," he whispered to the Hufflepuff.

"Good luck, Harry," said Diggory.

"It is almost nine," announced Bagman cheerfully. "Three! Two! One!" Ludo Bagman blew the whistle.

Taking a deep breath, Harry broke into a sprint, feeling the others do the same, staring at the calm waters of the Lake.

But suddenly, almost immediately after he crossed the golden line, the Great Lake disappeared from Harry's sight. Instead, he was suddenly enveloped in a thick fog. He could hear the cheers from the stands turning into astonished gasps.

Harry came to an abrupt stop, stunned. He couldn't even see his own hand when he held it in front of his face, so thick was the fog.

What the hell was this? They were just supposed to enter the Lake, find the Kelpie, take the oyster and come back up! Bagman had said nothing about this damn fog!

"Merlin!" he swore, wondering where the others went. Cedric, who had been right next to him at the golden line, was nowhere to be seen. Although even if he was even metres away from Harry, he wouldn't have been able to see him in fog.

"Lumos," Harry drew his wand and whispered. His wand lit up, but it didn't really help. He could only see things a metre ahead of him, the light failing to pierce the fog.

He walked ahead step by step, very cautiously; glad Hermione had cast a spell on his eyes – something like Muggle contact lenses that ensured he could see clearly without his glasses until the effect of the spell wore off. It was a complicated bit of magic; Harry could only hope it worked.

As he walked further, the silence in the fog a sharp contrast to the sounds in the stands. He noticed that ground under his feet was turning wetter and wetter. That was natural, given how he was getting closer to the Lake. It took him a few moments to realise that the ground was turning marshy, quite unlike the wet ground near the shores of the Lake. Before he knew it, he was ankle deep in thick, sticky, marshy water.

Struggling a little as he trudged through the muddy water, a soft buzzing sound caught his ear. He tried to ignore the buzzing, only for it to increase.

Suddenly, something flashed past him – bright and blue in the white of the fog.

"Aah!" Harry cried, grabbing at his arm. Whatever it was, the blue buzzing thing had stung his arm, painfully. His arm was turning red rapidly where the creature had bit him.

Trying to ignore the pain, Harry walked on, alert for signs of the blue creature.

The fog seemed to turn thicker, making it almost impossible for him to see anything. It was making his vision blurry, it was making him feel like he was getting a massive headache, a sudden giddiness taking over him, making him feel like everything around him was moving in circles, making him feel weak and dizzy…

Groping for something to hold on to, his hands curling around only air, Harry found himself clutching his head, the world around him spinning faster and faster. There was a sudden feeling in the pit of his stomach, a rush of air swooshing past him, his feet no longer touching the ground.

When he opened his eyes, the fog had thinned. He could see the Lake clearly now.

The only problem was – he had risen _above_ the fog! He was staring _down_ at the Lake! He was _afloat_ , in the _air_ , with the fog below him, a deafening cacophony in the stands.

Panicking, he almost let out a scream!

What the hell was happening? How was he floating on air? He couldn't even grab on to anything for support to tug himself back to the ground! What if he fell? He craned his neck, glancing below, only for his belly to churn as he saw how high above the ground he was. Zooming through the fog, he could see them – the bright blue creatures, like big flies, emitting a faint buzzing sound.

Merlin!

He wind-milled his arms, sure he was looking like an idiot to the people in the stands. However, that only resulted in him turning upside down instead, feeling like a slender something holding his foot was the only thing that lay between him and a certainly injurious drop to the ground.

The vial in his pocket threatened to slip out; he clapped a hand to his pocket, indubitably looking very comical – upside down in the air, one hand on his pocket, the other waving wildly in the air.

He could hear laughter and jeering from a section of the stands (Slytherins, no doubt).

It came to him suddenly – the spell they used to drag the Quaffles to the ground before they put them into the trunk after the Quidditch practice sessions. Pointing his wand at himself, Harry muttered the incantation under his breath.

Immediately, he felt himself falling towards the ground gently. The lower he fell, the thicker the fog got again. Moments later, he found himself falling into something with a loud splash, spitting out the icky-tasting muddy water that splashed onto his face.

He wasn't feeling giddy anymore. Falling into the water had probably helped. He couldn't see the blue flies too. They were all gone.

But the sigh of relief he breathed was short-lived. He had lost all sense of direction now. Which way was the Lake? Which way was the golden line and the stands?

Harry remembered the Four Point spell Remus had taught them one cold New Year Eve in Black Manor. Waving his wand, he muttered the incantation, relieved when the spell worked, his wand pointing him in the direction of the Lake.

His feet making squishy sounds as he walked through the water, Harry wondered what else he'd face in the fog before he finally reached the Lake. He had never felt this blind in his life, and that was saying something as he usually could hardly see anything without his glasses.

He wondered where the buzzing blue creatures had gone too. Whatever they were, he would need to be alert. Hermione would have known what the blue flies were. Maybe Luna too would've had her weird take on it. Whatever the creature was, Harry was sure he was the only one of the four champions who got bit by it and then floated in the air like a fool. He hadn't seen any of the others afloat above the fog. They had probably learnt about it in their lessons. After all, they had two more years of studying than him, especially Diggory who had taken Care of Magical Creatures.

Harry walked on and on, taking each step very sceptically, only to see a small light ahead. It was right in the middle of his path; there was no way he could avoid it. Rubbing at his arm where the blue creature's bite was still stinging him, Harry held his wand at the ready. The closer he got to the light, the farther the light went.

 _It's leading me in the direction of the Lake,_ he thought, wondering what it was.

But this seemed familiar to him – the light leading him… like a—it looked like a _lantern_! Remus' lesson in DADA— on Hinkypunks. That was what it was – a Hinkypunk!

 _They lead unsuspecting travellers into bogs,_ Harry remembered Remus telling them in their DADA class, _they lure them with lanterns. Travellers follow the light and end up in the marsh._

But the Hinkypunk was leading him in the direction of the lake itself! Did that mean— _Merlin,_ would he have to get past a bog to reach the Lake? Was the Hinkypunk a clue?

Without any warning, he saw a ball of fire zooming at him.

Harry ducked just in time, the fireball soaring over his head.

It was the Hinkypunk, of course, furious that he had stopped following it. The smoky, one-legged creature kept throwing fireballs from its lantern at him.

Harry jumped out of the way, once, twice, a third time, annoyed with the dratted creature. But he'd faced them before, in the practical exam Remus had set them for their end-of-year tests last year.

"Lumos!" he exclaimed, aimed the wand right at the Hinkypunk, blinding it with the sudden light.

"Flipendo!" Harry cried. "Flipendo! Flipendo!" He cast the Knockback Jinx half a dozen times before the Hinkypunk vanished in a puff of smoke.

"Yes!" Harry threw his fist in the air, glad that he was finally done with the pesky creature.

He looked around, wondering if there were more of them. But he couldn't see any more lantern lights or fireballs. He resumed walking again, itching to get to the Lake. The other champions had probably already reached the Lake; they were probably looking for their Kelpie already. Of the hour and a half that he had, Harry was sure twenty minutes were already up.

He was now knee deep in the marshy water. It was getting difficult to walk. He was getting slower with every step. His feet kept sinking in the marsh… though the fog was thinning now, Harry couldn't help feel uneasy.

There was something floating on the water ahead. He approached it slowly, the marshy water almost waist-high now. He got closer, noticing that the floating thing was only a piece of dead wood.

Grabbing on to it for support, Harry moved through the water, finding it easier to partly walk and partly wade holding on to the wooden log. The farther he went, the more of the wooden logs there were, almost as if they'd been placed there solely to ease his journey towards the Lake.

 _This doesn't seem right,_ he thought, grabbing on to the next log. _This is too easy—_

Out of nowhere, he felt something sharp sink into his ankle from behind him, agonising pain shooting through his leg.

"What the—" He turned around, trying to tug his ankle out of the grasp of whatever had caught it, only to see that the thing that had grabbed hold of his ankle was the log of wood that he'd earlier used for support!

It was _alive_!

The _wooden log_!

Alive, with beady little black eyes, and sharp teeth that were currently digging into Harry's ankle!

"Hey! Let me go!" He cried stupidly, pain hitting him in waves as the creature's teeth sunk further in. "Reducto—"

Before he could complete casting the Blasting Spell, the creature dragged him down into the marshy water, Harry's legs kicking at it wildly, the bruised ankle screaming in agony, coughing and coughing as he struggled for breath, wanting to spit out mouthfuls of the filthy water he swallowed.

His feet touched the ground beneath the water. Glad the marsh wasn't too deep, he tried to propel himself upwards, finally managing to get his face above the water to breathe in welcome gulps of air, the creature still holding his ankle tightly between its sharp teeth.

He shook his hurt leg, trying to throw the creature off, but to no avail. It just wouldn't let go of him. Grabbing on to the nearest wooden log after he'd made sure it wasn't one of the creature's friends, Harry raised his leg up with all his might, pulling the creature with it.

"Reducto!" he cried, aiming his wand right in the creature's face, hoping he wouldn't blast his own leg off. Fortunately, it worked! With a loud yelp, the creature went flying through the air, freeing Harry's ankle from its hold.

Harry wanted nothing better than to sink to the nearest patch of dry land he could find. He wasn't even at the Lake yet, and he was already exhausted!

 _They did put my name in to kill me_ , he thought dryly, wondering what the log-like creature would have done to him if it managed to get him down into the water long enough for him to lose breath. Nothing good, he imagined, wanting to sit somewhere and have a look at his ankle, see whether it was bleeding. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it was still hurting him.

Keeping a watch out that none of the other wooden logs were alive, Harry made his way through the marsh, completely soaked before he'd even reached the Lake, dragging his bruised leg, stumbling intermittently, wishing he was lying in bed with the covers around him, not wading through a damn marsh with logs that could attack him any moment.

But there was something pumping in him, something surging and surging higher and higher. It was adrenaline, he realised, that familiar rush that he hadn't felt since that night he had fought Greyback. It felt welcome, like an old friend, taking away the last remnants of the dizziness, empowering him, strengthening him despite how tired he was.

But the fog was thinning now, he noticed gratefully, the marsh growing shallower and shallower until he was on proper land again, on the familiar banks of the Great Lake, with the crowds breaking into loud cheers for him.

The fog wasn't there anymore. He could see the sky again. He could feel the familiar smooth pebbles under his feet.

But when Harry turned around and looked back, all he could see was the lawns and the golden line that Bagman had drawn – no fog, no blue flies, no bog and no living wooden logs.

Had it all been an illusion, then? Some clever bit of magic? Like he'd once seen when Sirius took him to the Auror office, where they could transform an empty room into a Muggle city or a forest with a few powerfully cast illusory spells?

He didn't know, and he didn't quite care.

All that mattered was that he was out of the bloody fog, and right on the bank of the Lake, the waters lapping gently at his feet.

He almost fell to the ground, sitting down. His arm was still a bright red where the blue fly had bit him… his ankle was red too, the skin broken where the creature's teeth had sunk in too deep, the marks of the sharp teeth red against the rest of his pale leg.

He couldn't see any of his competitors, he realised suddenly, neither in the Lake, nor anyone behind him. Had the three of them already cleared the fog and swum so far into the Lake that he couldn't even see them?

It was, strangely, that thought that made him get to his feet again. That and the familiar rush of anticipation, of battle, of something brilliant and spending lying just within his reach.

 _Don't go looking for the Kelpie,_ Sirius had told him. But his godfather's voice seemed fainter and fainter as Harry watched the waters of the Lake, remembering the black Kelpie he had drawn – those backward hooves, and that brilliant flaming tail.

He retrieved the vial of potion from his pocket, uncorked it, and drank it all in a single gulp.

The potion slid down his throat, hot yet cold at the same time, sending a sudden shiver through his entire body. He half expected himself to sprout gills or something. But nothing of that sort happened. Apart from the shiver, Harry felt no different.

Harry frowned, his heart beating faster now, nervousness mingling with the adrenaline. Had Acquila got hold of the wrong potion?

But there was nothing he could do now, was there? He trusted Acquila. He did. He would _have_ to take the plunge, literally and figuratively.

Walking deeper and deeper into the Lake, his ankle burning as waters sloshed against the bite wound, goose pimples erupting all over him, Harry kept wading in until he had to stand on his tiptoes to hold his head above the water.

He took a deep, deep breath, hoping to Merlin Slughorn's potion would really work. He let go of his hold on the lake floor, delving into the cold waters completely, as he looked for the elusive Kelpie.

To his surprise, he didn't feel the need to breathe! Oh he _had_ taken a long breath before he dived into the waters, but that breath shouldn't have helped him last this long underwater. But Harry found that he was perfectly alright, his lungs functioning normally, not finding it necessary to go up and breathe in air into them. The potion _was_ working!

Grinning as he pushed apart a clump of weeds, Harry wondered where he should head to. As he swam deeper and deeper into the Lake, discovering that swimming wasn't as tough as he remembered it being when Dora had tried to teach him one summer long ago, Harry could see nothing that looked like a Kelpie or like some form the Kelpie could have taken.

He swam on, father and father into the Lake, preferring to swim on the surface than continue underwater, only for something to grab at his feet and pull him down into the water.

He was ready, this time though. Wand raised, his incantation sounding garbled in the water, Harry saw his spell hit the creature that had grabbed him, sending it spinning downwards into the dark waters of the Lake and out of sight. It was a Kappa, those scaly monkey-like creatures Remus had taught them about. Glad that he had responded so swiftly, he swam further away from the castle and the stands, hoping there were no more Kappas around. Though they weren't dangerous, he didn't quite want to waste his time dealing with them the proper way – which involved making them bow until water poured out of their snouts, weakening them.

Taking a deep breath, Harry dived in again, wondering whether his Kelpie was somewhere underwater and not swimming on the surface of the Lake. It was all eerily silent, the spectators in the stands too far off for him to hear them, only the sound of the water as he pushed himself deeper.

Small fish flickered past him like silver darts. Once or twice he thought he saw something larger moving ahead of him, but when he got nearer, he discovered it to be nothing but a large, blackened log, or a dense clump of weed. There was no sign of any of the other champions or any Kelpie.

He swam on and on, frustrated now.

Where was everyone else? Why couldn't he see Fleur or Krum or Diggory? Were they still stuck in the fog? That was almost laughable. Had they swam even farther away? Perhaps they were already battling their own Kelpies somewhere.

The Lake was so vast he couldn't see either ends of it now, the waters darker the deeper he swam, the sunlight barely filtering in. Weren't there supposed to be many creatures in the Lake? Grindylows and Merpeople? Harry wondered where they'd all gone… perhaps into hiding because of the Kelpies or something? He had no clue.

He pondered over it, glancing at his watch that Hermione had water-proofed. He was already thirty five minutes into the task. He had less than an hour to go. He wondered how long it would take him to swim back to the shore and run to the golden line; he would have to consider that time too while calculating how long he had to find the Kelpie, when suddenly he heard a soft sound seeping into the hitherto silence.

Listening hard, Harry was surprised when he finally heard it clearly – it was a sweet voice, high and melodious, singing words he couldn't understand, but words that made him smile despite himself, remembering happier days spent with Sirius and Acquila in Black Manor, flying on Thunder, winning the House Cup for Gryffindor. The singing filled him with a sort of happiness, with warmth and light, joy and hope, and longing, a powerful longing that made him switch directions and swim towards the singing voice, dazed.

Unmindful of the little school of fish that suddenly swam past him, unmindful of how time was slipping past him, Harry swam in the direction of the singing, swimming upwards towards the surface of the water, slowing down when he finally saw the source of the voice – a surreal figure metres ahead of him, a beautiful woman, the _most_ beautiful, the most attractive woman he had ever seen, with golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight, big blue eyes, her hands spread out, as if she was calling him to her…

One look at her, and Harry felt light-headed… he felt like he could literally fly if he wanted to, his heart soaring, yearning to get hold of that beautiful woman whoever she was, wishing she would never stop— _wait!_ a voice in his mind told him. He'd felt this way before… this sense of attraction, of intense want, of feeling awed by someone's beauty. He'd felt this way the very first time he'd met _Fleur._

It was a trap!

The realisation snapping him out of his daze, Harry turned around as quick as he could, wand at the ready, swimming away from the singing woman who didn't look all that pretty anymore when she saw him turning his back on her.

Looking at her over his shoulder, Harry almost came to an abrupt stop. Her golden curls were turning into an alluring bluish-green shade, darkening, turning into a straightened, lengthening mane. Her hands that had been held out to him were changing, twisting into a pair of hooves—it was a _Kelpie_! It was no singing siren, but a blue Kelpie… Fleur's! _The most attractive of the four,_ Bagman had said. No wonder it had chosen to take the form of a siren. Perhaps Bagman's descriptions of the Kelpies were clues for them to figure out which one was their Kelpie. But if the most attractive Kelpie of the lot had taken on the form of a siren, which most people found hard to resist, Harry bleakly wondered which form his Kelpie would take, _the fiercest of the four,_ Bagman had said. It would be nothing good, he reckoned.

Sighing, Harry swam as fast as he could, when the singing started again. He wondered why it was singing again, only to see what looked like a shark swimming towards him. Panicked, Harry changed his course, swimming away from the fast-approaching shark, when he realised that it was no shark at all. Attached to the shark head was the torso of a man. It was Victor Krum! He'd clearly done a bad job of transforming himself into a shark.

"Wait! It's not a—" Harry tried to warn him. But Victor had already swum past him, deaf to his calls, already under the Siren-Kelpie's spell.

Harry had to let it go. Victor was older. He could deal with the Kelpie, he knew. It wasn't his brown Kelpie anyway, it was Fleur's. Victor would figure it out.

Harry turned around, took a deep breath and swam underwater again, wondering again about what form _his_ Kelpie would take, wondering whether he would even find it before the time was up.

Perhaps he didn't need to. Like Sirius had said, he could just swim around aimlessly.

 _But I can't,_ he thought quietly. He couldn't give up like this without trying at all. Agreed he hadn't wanted to compete in the first place. He didn't want the thousand galleons or the fame and the glory. But he couldn't do this – doing nothing, giving up, not even trying wholeheartedly. It wasn't right…

And somewhere deep inside him, he wondered how it would be to hold the Triwizard Cup in his arms, to see Remus and Dora and Aunt Andy watching him proudly, to see Hermione and Neville and maybe even Ron cheering for him, to see Acquila happy at his victory… but most of all, he imagined the smile on Sirius' face, pride and admiration for his godson… he wanted that… he wanted to make Sirius proud of him… Oh, Sirius always told him how proud he was of him, how proud Harry's parents would have been too… but he wanted this… to be like Sirius was – brave and courageous in the face of danger, like his godfather had been half a dozen times in the past three years, unafraid and ready to tackle whatever came in his path, emerging out of it bloody but victorious, like a Gryffindor, like one of the best Aurors the force had ever had…

Nodding to himself, feeling suddenly all charged up, he swam on. Light green weed stretched ahead of him as far as he could see, two feet deep, like a meadow of very overgrown grass. Harry was staring unblinkingly ahead of him, trying to discern shapes through the gloom… and that was when he noticed the huge shadow heading his way.

Thrilled, Harry swam closer to the nearing shape, which was certainly some giant creature, only for his hopes to dash as quick as they'd risen. It was the Giant Squid. He let his guard down. After all, the Squid wasn't really dangerous; it had even rescued Dennis Creevey when he fell into the Lake on the day of the Welcoming Feast.

Harry stared at the Squid for one long moment. He had never seen it this close – the thick eight arms and the two huge tentacles.

He swam past it, Harry looked ahead, trying to make out the dark shapes that dotted the water, only to feel one of the Squid's tentacles wrap around his injured leg.

"Hey—"

But the tentacles wouldn't let go of him, the Squid taking advantage of how he'd let his guard down like an idiot, how he hadn't even expected it to attack him. The next thing he knew, Harry was being shook around like a rag doll, the tentacle tightening around his leg. For the second time that morning, Harry felt bursts of pain shooting into his leg. But this time, the pain was unbearable. He wondered if his leg would break into two. Gritting his teeth, everything swimming haphazardly around him as he was being shook violently, Harry shot spells at the Squid—though it was no Squid at all, he knew now. It couldn't be. It was a Kelpie… he was sure of it.

None of his spells hit the dratted creature, though, all of them missing as he was being flailed around, shaken wildly as if he was just a doll. He could feel himself slowly yearning for breath now. The potion needed him to breathe every once in a while... He needed air now… his lungs needed oxygen… there was a sharp pain in his chest, black spots in front of his eyes. He tried to cast spells at the Kelpie for it to let him go… But it kept dragging him deeper…

He wondered if this was the end of him. He had survived Fenrir Greyback, he had survived Voldemort thrice… would a wild water demon make an end of him?

A blurry collage of images flitted past his eyes – the green light that took his Mum's life, her screams in his ears, the Dursleys, finding Sirius, Voldemort on the back of Quirrel's head, Ron and Hermione and Neville, Ginny speaking in Voldemort's terrifying voice, finding a family in Remus, Aunt Andy, Uncle Ted and Dora, flying on his now-destroyed Firebolt, Greyback lunging at him, Hedwig and Thunder, Sirius hugging him and ruffling his hair, calling him Prongslet, and then it was all Acquila – sitting beside the black-haired girl on the swing, the cake she'd brought him on his birthday, kissing her that first time, then breaking up with her, her kissing his cheek for luck in the morning… her grey eyes, those long black tresses, the pretty pink in her cheeks when she laughed too hard, how soft her hand felt in his, feeling her heart beat in tandem with his, the sound of her voice, sweet and familiar—and then bursting into a scream, until he saw no more.

 **oOo**

The scream escaped her, lost in the loud cheering of the eager crowd as something rose out of the middle of the Lake, Fleur's tiny figure rising over the waters for a moment, before both creature and witch disappeared underwater again.

"H—Harry," she gasped, feeling weak and breathless, her lungs fit to bursting as they screamed for air. She stumbled as she tried to stand up, Hermione grabbing hold of her arm.

"Acquila! What's wrong?"

"Are you unwell? Acquila!" Neville's voice sounded like it was coming from far off, as she doubled over with the intensity of the sights and the sounds he was losing touch with, the last thoughts in his darkening mind's eye, the unassailable strength with which he was being flailed around and then dragged under the water, his chest feeling like it would tear open in its quest for air.

She hadn't felt him for weeks and weeks now. And to feel this, so sudden, so powerful, so intense—the images in his mind, Remus and Dora and her Dad, their friends, herself—

"I'm going to get McGonagall—something's wrong with her. She needs Madam Pomfrey!" She could hear Ron's shaken voice.

"No—wait," she gasped, half trying to stop Ron from calling a teacher, half trying to stop Harry from slipping out of her grasp as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, seeing Hermione's face one moment and the waters Harry was being dragged through the next, breathing in huge gulps of air one moment and struggling for breath the next, hearing the cheering of the crowds, and then hearing Harry's thoughts as he wondered if he was about to die.

"Sit down, Ron!" She heard Hermione say.

"She looks like she's dying and we shouldn't do anything?" Ron sounded outraged.

 _I'm fine,_ she wanted to say, _it isn't me, it's Harry! Help him!_

But the words wouldn't escape her, her lips stringing a chant of just one word – _Harry, Harry, Harry._

 _He needs help! He's dying!_ She wanted to scream, stuck between her body and his mind, in the power of the Soul Bond that wouldn't let him die without taking her along too, that wouldn't let him suffer without paining her too, just like he had always felt every single one of her hurts, her bruises, both the physical ones and the mental ones that Greyback gave her.

He was dying, and the Bond would kill her too along with him.

 _But what does it matter?_ she thought faintly, _what is life without Harry?_

She couldn't imagine it – a world without him in it, waking up to a morning where he wouldn't smile at her at the breakfast table, exchanging those glances even though they weren't the all-knowing ones they used to share just months ago, never holding his hand, never seeing his face again, never feeling his breath on her lips, never feeling his heart beat as one with her own— _I can save him,_ she thought, feeling the last of him slip away from her mind, screaming agonisingly as she tried to hold on to him, though she heard no scream, just her lips mouthing his name soundlessly.

 _I was wrong,_ she thought vaguely, _I thought I could break the Bond, I thought I could live my life—but I can't, I don't want to, not if it is a life without him—_

She had tried to fight it so hard and so long, since the night of Greyback's attack. She had fought and fought and won a semblance of victory, especially after breaking up with him. She had managed to keep from hearing his thoughts strongly, from feeling what he felt as powerfully as before, from sensing every little thing about him like she could do earlier. But she would give up the fight now, she would bow down, she would surrender to the Bond… she had to… she _would,_ without another thought.

She'd do anything to save him, she'd take all that it did to keep from losing him.

She opened her eyes suddenly, finding the blue sky and the sun winking at her, Hermione and Neville's worried faces above her.

She shut her eyes, letting go of that last bit of hold she still held, pulling down the crumbling walls she had put up so painstakingly, giving herself in completely to the beckoning pull of the Soul Bond. It should have been a tough thing… after all, she hadn't accessed the Bond like this in months. But it was easy, as if she'd never stopped being one with Harry at all, as if this was something she was born doing, as if this was what she was always meant to do…

When opened them, she could see only water all around her. It was long-forgotten yet familiar – the feeling of being in Harry's body; she could remember it from that night of the Greyback attack, when she had possessed Harry… this was similar, yet different.

There were spasms of pain in her ankle, her leg hurting where the tentacle had held her tight. Luckily, she could still feel Harry's wand in his hand, the familiar touch of it giving her courage. Her heart seemed about to shatter into a million pieces as it yearned agonisingly for air, but she was also breathing in huge gulps of fresh air—it was all so jumbled up, the sound of the water rushing past her, the sound of the cheers from the stadium, Hermione's comforting hand on her back, and the tail that had wound itself tightly around her leg— _a tail!_ It was a tail, not a tentacle anymore! A long, golden tail that belonged more to a pretty fish than the Giant Squid! The Kelpie had transformed into the form it usually chose to devour its prey – a dazzling white horse with two front hooves, a long golden mane, a longer golden tail.

Her hand moved, grabbing the wand tighter even as she felt the black dots appear into her vision. She stared at the Kelpie, conflicted for a moment on where to cast a spell at it. What if she mis-hit and it caused the Kelpie to get further mad and do something to Harry?

It struck her suddenly. It was easy, so easy.

The Holly and Phoenix feather wand slashed, not the quick motion it would've had in the air, the flow of the water restricting her action. But the curse hit the Kelpie just where she'd intended it to – there was a sudden spurt of red in the water, the water demon letting out an agonised scream as the Slashing Curse slashed at its tail, just where it had Harry in its grip, a deep red gash against the smooth golden tail.

In a trice, she felt herself loose of the Kelpie's hold, stunned for a moment as she floated untethered in the lake waters. Then, she was waving her arms and legs; she didn't know how to swim, but she was doing all that she could to lug Harry's body, which seemed to get heavier by the moment, upwards. The pain in her chest was agonising now; she knew she couldn't hold on for long. But she had to do it. She _had_ to take Harry to safety. She had to get air into his lungs, breath into his unmoving body. He couldn't be dead yet, or she'd have known. She could still feel him inside, faint and speechless, but there.

She heard the Kelpie shrieking madly behind her, fright taking hold of her as she wondered whether she'd be able to drag Harry to the surface in time. But then she saw someone approaching them – someone human, familiar: Cedric.

She only swam upwards, almost faint herself, until she felt Harry stirring within, coming to his senses, the sunlight getting closer and closer, his head breaking up to the surface with a loud splash, the blessed air rushing into his lungs, coughing and coughing as he spat out the water, his chest burning with the sudden influx of air, still coughing, still gasping, but alive—

" _Harry,"_ she wanted to say, but as suddenly as she'd entered him, she found herself coughing as Ron, Hermione and Neville surrounded her. Fred and George too, their faces identically worried.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked her quietly, a spark of understanding in her eyes.

"Yes, we are," replied Acquila.

 **oOo**

As the slight warmth of the sunrays descended upon him, a welcome respite from the cold waters of the Lake, Harry stayed still, feeling like he'd literally cough his lungs out if he coughed anymore. His throat felt rough and sore, a sort of stitch in his side, his breathing still laboured. But he was alive, and that's what mattered.

He knew what Acquila had done, yet again. But this time, it left him feeling bitter-sweet, only a little of the awe and the sense of gratitude and pride he'd felt for her last time. But he _was_ glad to be alive, glad that the Soul Bond existed, glad that Acquila had helped him survive yet again. He felt like he could still feel some of her lingering within him, a subtle presence… there, yet not there too.

But he didn't quite have the time to dwell on that now. He glanced at his watch. He had just thirty minutes in hand now. It almost made him laugh – how he'd come across both Fleur's Kelpie and Diggory's, but now his own black one. He had all the luck in the world when it came to these things, didn't he?

But he was glad he didn't have to fight Cedric's white and golden Kelpie. It was huge, from what he remembered from Acquila's view of it, and vicious. But he was reminded of Bagman saying that Harry's black Kelpie was the fiercest one; and that only made him uneasy.

He wondered if he even had a chance. Victor had maybe found his own Kelpie quite a while ago. Cedric had found his white Kelpie too. He didn't know of Fleur yet, but Harry reckoned she'd probably already reached the shore with the oyster or something after fighting the Siren-Kelpie. She was a smart girl. That left only him, with twenty five minutes in hand, no Kelpie in sight.

 _You have nothing to lose,_ he remembered Remus telling him on the Two Way Mirror once.

Remus was right. He had nothing to lose. He had twenty five minutes, he'd make the most of them. If he found his Kelpie, well and good. If he didn't… well, he had at least given it his best shot.

Taking a deep breath, he delved into the water again. _Just a few minutes,_ he told himself, _then I'll be out of here._ He couldn't wait to get out of the cold waters. Maybe snuggle into his four-poster with a couple of thick blankets, a cup of Mopsy's hot cocoa…

He watched every dark shape, every shadow intently. He even stared at the school of rather large fish that swam past him. But it didn't look like the Kelpie had donned their form.

A strange creature approached him – greyish skin, long hair, yellow eyes, a long spear in hand. It was a merperson, he supposed, the first one had had come across. It looked far scarier than he had imagined it to be.

Harry gripped his wand, alert for any sign of it being the water demon. But the merman only swam past him mutely, poisoned spear-tip pointed at him in warning, yellow eyes glaring, but making no move to attack him.

Sighing, bubbles floating out of his mouth as he sighed, Harry wondered if he should give up now. He had to swim back to the shore before the time was up. He turned around, pushing past a clump of weeds, when it came- strong, sudden and unexpected, the waters of the Lake seeming to rise above him like a giant ocean wave, water splattering all over him, and before he could react, a gigantic tail slithering around him swiftly.

For a moment, stunned and motionless, Harry only watched the creature that towered over him – it was at least eighty metres long, a horse-like head and a snake-like body, easily as frightening and fearsome as the Basilisk he had fought with the Aurors in his second year at Hogwarts. It was a sea serpent, he was sure of it. He had seen it in a painting at Gamp Manor.

 _Your Kelpie is the wildest and the fiercest one, Harry,_ Bagman had told him.

It struck him almost _too_ quickly, the way to make certain this was a Kelpie.

He opened his mouth, the water rushing in. He stared at the sea-serpent's dark eyes, at its forked tongue, at its fierce face, even as the tail coiled tighter and tighter around him, ready to drag him into the Lake's watery depths.

 _Talk to me,_ Harry hissed in Parseltongue, the words a little garbled in the water, _are you a snake? Can you hear me? Talk to me!_

For a moment, he expected the sea serpent to react like the Basilisk had when he had spoken to it in Parseltongue. But this serpent did not react at all; it was as if it hadn't even heard Harry. He knew why – it wasn't a serpent at all! It was his Kelpie; he was certain of it, surer than he had ever been.

As the serpent pulled him downwards, Harry did nothing, lying limply in its massive coils. After the experience with the Squid he knew that Kelpies liked their prey very still. It was better he remained like that rather than being flung all around wildly like Cedric's Kelpie had done.

For the second time that day, Harry was forced into the excruciating journey to the very depths of the Lake. But this time, he was prepared for what was to come. Cedric's Kelpie had turned from the Giant Squid to its equine form only when it had dragged Harry to the bottom of the Lake, ready to eat him up. He would have to do the same with the sea serpent, wait for it to take its equine form so that he could place the bridle on its back.

The tail coiled around him loosened the lower he got, before he was suddenly thrown to the lake floor with a painful, watery thud. He groped around, his fist curling over a smooth piece of stone.

Before his very eyes, the sea serpent began turning and twisting, turning smaller and smaller, the blue scales turning into a smooth, almost dazzling black, the long tail turning shorter, red slipping into the blue before the entire tail turned an almost ghostly red, the same colour as the mane that was sprouting on the horsey face, the large teeth turning shorter, but sharper, the Kelpie's equine face, with its terrible red eyes, its scary-looking teeth looking sharper as it opened its jaw, almost bowing over Harry as it sought to sink those teeth into Harry's stomach.

He waved his wand, quicker than he ever remembered doing, muttering the incantations one after the other, feeling the smooth rock turn into a large leathery bridle, watching his Placement Charm levitating the bridle upwards. The Kelpie's teeth were mere centimetres away from his belly, the terrible head bowed, the angle only making it easier for him to land the bridle neatly over the Kelpie's head.

There was a loud sound from the Kelpie. It reared its head back, neighing in fury, trying to throw off the bridle, struggling to fight the charm. But it was Hermione who had taught him the Placement Charm, it was she who had so painstakingly taught him to transfigure rocks into bridles. Harry knew he wouldn't fail. The Kelpie struggled and struggled, until finally, when Harry looked at it, his heart thudding, adrenaline in his veins, realising just what a close shave he had had, he found the Kelpie standing over him, hooves on the floor of the Lake, mane fluttering lazily in the water, the red eyes not so terrible now, but almost docile.

Harry got to his feet, feeling it almost unbelievable that he was standing on the floor of the Great Lake next to such a fearsome creature.

There, pearly white against the dark red mane, lay the oyster, almost as if it had been glued to the Kelpie's mane with magic. How hadn't he noticed it before? Perhaps, the oyster appeared only after the champions subdued their Kelpies?

When he touched the oyster, it fell almost gracefully into his palm, feeling warm against his cold skin.

Petting the dark head almost fondly, Harry began swimming upwards, impatient to finally get out of the Lake. He was certain he wouldn't even want to glance at the Lake for at least a couple of weeks now. He had more than had his fill of it.

He was almost out of breath as he broke the surface of the water. All he wanted to do was get back to the shore and feel ground under his feet. He was sure he wouldn't be swimming for a very long time. He had done enough swimming in this one task to last him a lifetime. It was only now that he realised how his arms were aching, his legs too, along with the terrible pain in his ankle which had seemed insignificant earlier, but with returned back with a vengeance now that his adrenaline in his system was declining.

As he neared the shore, he could hear the crowd cheering loudly. He couldn't see any of the others, though. They'd either reached long before him, or they were still in the lake. Harry reckoned they'd completed the task long before him. He sighed at the prospect of finishing last. But somewhere, deep within him, he wondered whether all the cheers were for him, whether the others had been unable to retrieve the oysters from their Kelpies, whether maybe, _just maybe,_ he would come first.

The thought had barely crossed his mind when far ahead, he heard the roar of the crowd reach a crescendo, a figure swimming swiftly towards the shore – Cedric Diggory.

Harry picked up speed, his arms aching like they'd fall off any moment. But he knew there was no way he could overtake the Hufflepuff. He saw Cedric wade through the shallow shore of the Lake, then get to his feet and run towards the golden line where they'd begun.

He barely felt himself follow suit, his legs almost sagging in blessed relief when his feet finally touched the dry ground. He limped towards the golden line, thankful that there was none of that dratted fog this time.

He heard the Gryffindors erupt as one, his name being chanted loudly all over as he finally stepped over the golden line.

Cedric was ahead of him, smiling at the crowd. He called Harry over, but he shook his head, collapsing to the ground, finally taking a good look at his ankle. It was still bleeding, while there were angry red marks on his knees and thighs and his belly where the Squid and sea serpent had gripped him tightly.

He could heard Ludo Bagman announcing Cedric's name as the first of the champions to have reached the finishing line. Harry's name followed, almost drowned in the deafening roar that cheered for Cedric. Then Victor, and Fleur – the two of them had made their way out of Lake too.

Suddenly, on a whim, Harry looked up, watching a figure running towards them from the stands.

It was _her_ , Acquila, with a furious Filch behind her, yelling that students weren't supposed to leave the stands yet.

He watched her almost blankly, knowing she would go and hug Cedric, maybe kiss him too. After all, he did come first.

But she ran past Cedric and towards Harry, his arms extending to her of their own accord. She flew into him, her arms encasing him, her lips on his cheek, saying nothing, though he heard all she had to say.

 **oOoOo**

 **A/N:** Yet another long chapter. We hope the first task was alright. We didn't quite want to take the books route again, so we aimed for something different with the Triwizard tasks.

I can't quite promise when the next update will come. But we'll try to work on it more often than we could on this chapter.

As we'd said last time, I'm finally changing my author's name on FFN. Centaur Princess sounds a little too childish given how young I was when I took the name from my Pottermore account. So, the next update for Black Bond II will appear in your inbox under the author's name _Rajatarangini._ It is a rather _too_ Indian a name, which I doubt most of you have heard before. _Rajatarangini_ literally means the River of Kings; it's a very old book, one of my favourite ones, written in the 12th century – a historical chronicle on the Kings of Kashmir, the land of my ancestors.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Suggestions are always welcome, as are reviews. Thank you for reading :)


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